Strings Attatched
by FlippinAmazing
Summary: Episodestyle. A young guitarist is admitted to the hospital with a string of unusual symptoms, and holds an all too familiar past for Chase's liking.
1. Prologue

**Prologue**

Blocks down the way, the steady pounding of the bass line was heard by disgruntled neighbors attempting to catch some sleep. Perhaps the most irritated were those who lived next door; cursing to themselves that they ever chose this house:the one with the obnoxious neighbors at their side. With every violent vibration of the window, Mr. Hausler lost one more nerve until it was too much to bare. Thrusting the covers off himself, he walked to the phone and dialed the police department; he had endured enough.

Next door, the six young boys were oblivious to the outrage they had caused; they were too enthralled in the music they were futilely attempting to collaborate on. Their knock-off brand guitars, keyboards, drums, and amps covered the small garage from wall to wall; all of which were the prize possessions of the group. All the boys played fluently for their rather young ages, but through the nicely flowing rhythms and melodies stuck out a single sour sound that eventually lead to the down fall of the current song being played.

"Jake, what's your problem?" Lee asked as he threw his drum sticks to the garage floor. "You're not following my beat."

With an uncomfortable shift beneath his guitar strap, Jake let out a small breath, "Look, I'm sorry, can we just take a short break?" The other boys let out a groan at that all-too-familiar question.

"You have _got _to be kidding me!" Karl laughed in disbelief as he walked the length of the garage to grab a Coke from the cooler. "This is like the fifth time in the last half hour," he pointed out, leaning against the counter, and opening his can with a pop of fizz following.

"It's not my fault," Jake began. He pulled a small stool over to his spot to sit down on, "It's just-"  
"Something is up with you, man," Brent observed while adjusting the angle of his microphone, "Your sucking it up today. Even Karl is doing better than you."

"Hey," Karl retorted indignantly, "I'm getting better."

"Yeah, right," Adam laughed. He plucked idly at his bass strings, "Jake's sister can play better than you at this point."

"Shut up-"

"Hey, I.." Jake began as he slipped his fingers beneath his brown locks to rub his forehead, "I just don't feel so good."

"What's the matter?" Brent asked, coming over to the guitarist to make sure he was alright, "Ah, your probably just a little thirsty. It's hot as heck in here," he commented patting Jake's shoulder, "Ryan, toss me a bottle of water, would ya?"

Without a word, Ryan leaned back from his spot at the keyboards to grab a bottle out of the mini-refrigerator, and tossed it across the garage to Brent who caught it with ease.

"Here," Brent watched Jake chug some water before moving on, "Now let's get back to business, huh? Lee, count us off."

Jake set his water at the base of his stool as everyone got back into their positions. Lee counted them into the song, and before long the amps were back in full force, emitting music of sonic proportions.

Boom boom boom. With every rhythmic beat, a sharp pain pierced through Jake's temples. He had wished he brought some Advil with him, but figured it would subside in a few minutes. Much to his distress, however, he had no such luck. The longer the song went on the less he could comprehend, which wasonce againthrowing everyone off; he did not even hear the words of ridicule Karl shouted at him over the music for his sloppy guitar playing. Out of the blue, an emerging sense of nausea forced Jake to close his eyes in an effort to suppress all ill feelings and concentrate on what he was doing.

It was no use; what small amount of light there was in that garage erupted into an intense spot light, shooting painful rays through his eyelids. An unheard groan of misery escaped his now sweat covered lips, yet no one ceased their playing. The thriving melodies of the keyboard, and the jagged beat of the bass slowly seemed to be drifting away. Everything was fading; he thought briefly that some one had turned down the amps because only the drums were still clear in his mind. Boomboom. Boomboom. Boomboom. The drums pulsed viciously against his chest. Boomboom. Boomboom. The beat was growing faster and faster, pounding on his chest, and in his ears. In the far distance, a few voices could be heard.

"Man, is he alright?"

"Jake? Oh, crap, he's green."

"Wait. What was that?"

"What?" At that question Jake managed to open his eyes; in front of him stood the blurred image of his five friends; they appeared to be wavering from side to side. Behind them the walls had turned blue; no red; no blue. The intensity of the flashing lights forced Jake to close his eyes once more, and he gripped his chest painfully as the drums continued to pound ever faster. Boomboomboomboom.

"Guys," he tried to say, but oxygen seemed to be a bit scarce. "Guys-" he coughed out painfully.

"Cops! We've got to beat it!" Some one interrupted hastily before sounds of rushing feet filled the air.

"My parents are going to kill me!" Another voice said. A hand managed to grasp Jake's arm and pull him from the stoolit was no useJake felt himself collapse limply onto the floor before everything went black.


	2. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**

Upon ducking his head down, Gregory House was able to avoid the harsh early morning air that threatened to sting his face, and make it safely to the front doors of the Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital. With a shove of his shoulder he made his way inside the seemingly unpopulated entrance hall, and it was not exactly to his surprise. Cuddy had beeped him and his team excruciatingly earlybefore the sun's rays even peeked over the horizon.

He stood in silence for a moment, and leaned on his cane as he stared up at the horrific two o'clock displayed on the clock. He couldn't help but ponder why he had forced himself out of bed to come help this one person who probably had nothing more than an odd looking rash.

The recognizable sound of briskly clicking heels was enough for House to reach into his coat pocket and coil his fingers around his trusty bottle of Vicodin. It was not long before the sour expression of Cuddy rounded the corner.

"Did I or did I not page you over two hours ago?" She asked angrily approaching him.

"Dr. Cuddy," he greeted, popping a pill into his mouth, "You did, but gosh-darn-it this leg of mine just doesn't move as fast as it use to."

His sarcasm covered response drew out an exasperated sigh from his boss, "Your team is waiting for you upstairs. An eleven-year-old boy was brought in by the police around midnight." She handed him a manila folder, "I suggest you get up there before your patient gets worse." With that she began to head back to the clinic.

"This kid better be puking up urine, otherwise I see no reason why I have to be here," House commented after her.

Cuddy began walking backwards in order to face him, "Maybe if you had been here on time you would know exactly why he is your patient." She turned back in the opposite direction and disappeared around the same corner she first emerged from.

(Meanwhile...)

"I don't know why we even bother to come in when asked; we all know House never shows up on time," Foreman pointed out as he looked to Cameron at the counter. She glanced over at Chase as she poured her third cup of coffee that morning; he was seated at the table with his arms folded and eyes closed.

"Because if we didn't come in," she began with a softer tone, "then we would be just as bad as House. I don't know about you, but I take my job seriously; even if that means coming in at the crack of dawn to do nothing but wait."

"I do take my job seriously," he turned his attention away from Cameron and gestured to the sleeping Aussie, "It's just that I'd rather be-"

"Rather be what?" House asked walking through the doors, "Spending the night getting wasted and jumping cars with your homies?" He walked over to the counter next to Cameron.

Foreman rolled his eyes, "You're late. As usual." In the midst of pouring his coffee, House stopped to think.

"If I'm usually late, then why take the time to remind me of my habits?" He looked at Foreman, "I'm pretty sure I know them by now."

"I'm reminding you because obviously you haven't gotten the concept in the past, oh I don't know, several years that being on time is important when having a job; especially in the medical field."

"I love this," House said to Cameron, "The ex-convict is going to start lecturing me on _ethics_."

"I just think you need to be here when asked; what if it's crucial?" He asked.

"Oh, well if it's crucial then our intensivist," House explained nodding to the dozing Chase, "can take care of it until I get here. Though you might want to give _him _a lecture on the importance of not sleeping on the job."

Cameron took a seat at the table as she sipped her coffee, "You can't blame him; none of us got any sleep last night." Ignoring Cameron's excuses, House walked over to Chase to inspect him. His head was now bent over his folded arms, causing his long locks to conceal his serene face; his chest rose and fell at an even rhythm that revealed a sign of deep sleep.

"You should wake him," Foreman suggested, "We have work to do."

"Oh, but he's so cute when he's sleeping," House commented before jabbing his cane into Chase's ribs, and jerking him out of his dream state.

"Oi," Groaned the Aussie as he rubbed his side, and sat up a bit straighter in his chair.

"Rise and shine my little wombat. Did you dream of frolicking through fields of gumdrops and lollipops?" He asked while watching Chase struggle to rid himself of the disorientation that fogged his mind. With out a word, the lethargic doctor got up from his spot at the table and grabbed a mug off the counter.

After a few moments of nothing but the sound of Chase pouring his coffee, Foreman became impatient, "Jake Leider, eleven-years-old. He was at his friends house having a band practice when neighbors started to complain. The police said they came into the garage and he was on the floor, out cold."

"Parents?" House asked, tapping his can on his shoe. Chase retook his seat and opened his copy of the case folder.

"Not there," he finally spoke, "apparently absent on business."

"Smart. Let a bunch of puberty-driven boys stay home alone," House commented.

Cameron spoke up, "None of the parents knew there was no supervision. Miss Leider said that Jake swore there were going to be adults."

"And she believed him?" House inquired with surprise.

"He's her son," Cameron argued.

House looked to Foreman, "What is another one of my habits? I think it's a saying," He paused to think then landed his gaze on Cameron, "Oh yes, _everyone _lies."

"So what are you saying? Parents shouldn't ever trust what their sons or daughters say?" She asked angrily.

"No kid is going to tell their parents that they are going to an unsupervised party or that they are doing drugs," Chase explained. "They're bound to lie."

"Some kids may lie, yes, but I'm sure parents would like to hope for the best in their own children," reasoned Cameron.

"Right, so parents should have the mentality that a lot of kids lie, but _theirs _are not capable of it," Chase mocked lightly before habitually gnawing on his pencil.

Cameron looked to him sternly, "That's not what I meant."

"As much as I enjoy seeing my ducklings debate," House broke in, "Let's try to stay on topic."

Chase leaned back in his chair, "Jake came in with a hundred and two point four fever, slight tachycardia, and a terrible headache."

"Don't forget the muscle rigidity and irregular breathing," Cameron added as she looked to House, who was jotting the symptoms on the board.

"Why are you writing these down?" Foreman asked.

House furrowed his brow in confusion by that question then turned to him, "I'm sorry, it's a nasty habit I have."

"But there is an obvious answer. Fever, headache, stiffness? It's meningitis," Foreman explained.

Chase shook his head, "The boy can hardly breathe on his own, not to mention he's eleven."

"That _is _a very unusual age for meningitis," Cameron agreed, looking to House who was busy concentrating on the board.

"Simple, but it almost fits," House thought aloud, "If it weren't for the minor detail of the inability to breath properly, I could get the kid on Ampicillin, and go home."

"It's possible the meningitis caused an asthma attack," Foreman suggested.

"Does Jake even _have _asthma?" Cameron directed at the neurologist, "Who took the history?"

"I did," Chase answered, "No record of asthma anywhere in the genetic line."

"If it is meningitis, it's contagious," House turned to his ducklings, "Get the mother on ciprofloxacin to prevent her from getting it, should he have it."

"His sister is in there too, she should get some rifampin to fight off the infection as well," added the allergist.

Chase dropped his head back momentarily in frustration, "It's _not _meningitis," he lifted his head to look squarely at Foreman. "The patient doesn't have asthma, therefore there is no explanation for his breathlessness."

Foreman sighed, running out of options, "Well, it could be-"

"He's right," House nodded to Chase as he cut him off.

"_Thank you_," The Aussie exasperated, setting his pencil down on the table, "Now I was thinking-"  
"Chase," House interrupted yet again, "Get some ciprofloxacin and rifampin, and pay a visit to Leider's room."

Chase looked at him in disbelief, "But you just said-"

"I said you were right that there was no excuse for breathlessness. Oh yeah, and get some CSF while you're in there," With that House limped into his office, and flicked his TV on. A loud sigh escaped his mouth as he lounged back in his chair, and propped his feet up on the desk corner. The opening music to one of House's favorite soap's drifted into the main meeting room.

"I can't believe this," Chase verbalized as he stood up to gather his papers.

"Which part?" Foreman asked with an amused smile. "The part where you are wrong? Or the part where you have to do everything by yourself while we sit and enjoy another cup of coffee?"

"Actually," Chase began as he stuffed everything into his folder, "I meant the part where I have to give a lumbar puncture to a boy who obviously doesn't have meningitis."

"We are just covering all the bases," Cameron assured. "When the tests come back negative, we can move on to something else."

"Except for the coming back negative part, I agree," Foreman commented. "Come on, you guys, this is the easiest diagnosis to give on the face of the earth. What medical schools did you two go to, that you can't even recognize meningitis when it's staring you in the face?"

"Sorry, I'd love to talk about this more," Chase replied as he walked to the door, "but I have some unnecessary drugs to shove down some patients throats." Cameron couldn't help but smile at the House-like comment that rolled off the intensivist's tongue.


	3. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

Baffling; the way House's mind worked was absolutely baffling. The only reason he decided to accept the case was because the chest pain and difficulty breathing didn't add up to the other symptoms, and yet he was sitting back, watching TV, instead of putting his intelligence to good use.

There was more to it than a common infection; Chase was sure of it. It was not abnormal, however, for his ideas to be pushed aside. On the contrary, it was quite a ritual by now. Ever since the several misfortunes Chase and House had endured together, the thoughts of the other two ducklings seemed to be more significant to the bitter diagnostician. Now, it was the Aussie's duty to once again complete an undesirable task for the team. Chase maneuvered a cart he had loaded with a manometer, several 22 and 25 gauge needles, proper dressings, andof coursethe preventative medication through the forest of white lab coats that bustled to their urgent locations.

Sliding open the glass door to Jake's room released a soft tune that had been quarantined behind the rather thick glass walls. Across the room, Jake sat reclined in his hospital bed, strumming easily at his acoustic guitar.

Advancing across the threshold was like taking a step from day into night; the blinds were drawn tightly shut, allowing thin slivers of the rising sun to make their way into the room. The only other light was the dim green coloring that radiated from the ECG screen.

The young doctor pulled the cart in behind him, "Good to see you up, Jake." He inspected Jake's vital statistics before grabbing the clipboard off the bed, "How are you feeling?"

"Not too bad," he responded, though his voice and body contradicted his statement. Laced with fatigue, his hands quivered as he attempted to get through a song, but coordination seemed to be an impossible characteristic for him to maintain as dissonance after dissonance brought out frustration filled groans. Blurred vision was the best that his blood-shot eyes could produce at the moment, which resulted in more rotten notes and an even worse headache.

Chase glanced at him with a weak smile, "You don't have to lie." He rechecked some of Jake's charts, "Does your chest still hurt?"

The boy nodded, "So does my head."

"And the lights make it worse or are you just setting the tone for some Van Halen?" He asked, nodding to the guitar.

"You know Van Halen?" Jake questioned with surprise.

"How could anyone not?" The Aussie rephrased as he took a seat on a stool near Jake's bedside, "He's hard to miss." At that, the boy attempted to play another measure of "Unchained", only succeeding in angering himself more at the failed effort.

Holding the neck of the guitar, he forced it at Chase. "Yeah, too bad I can't even play it right," he seethed, wanting to get his skill back more than anything at the moment.

The smooth rounded edge of the guitar's body was rested on the intensivist's knee before its strings were lightly plucked, "Once you're out of here, you'll play just fine." Seeing his physician wield his instrument was something that shocked Jake; Chase's fingers skimmed over the strings as if he knew what he was doing.

"I never knew doctors could be musical," Jake commented with an air of jocularity.

The remark made Chase laugh, "What? You expect us all to spend our free time reading medical references and going to snooze-fest seminars?" He looked to the boy for his answer as he propped his foot up on the low bed frame, giving him a better position to play.

Jake smiled with a laugh, "I guess we'll find out," his smile turned into a smirk, "Can you do Van Halen?"

Chase raised his eyebrows in surprise at the bold challenge, "Pick _any _song, mate."

"'Eruption'," Jake leaned back; this would be quite a show.

"No problem," the slightly weary Aussie assured as he shifted his position on the stool. He cleared his throat apprehensively as he tried to remember how it went. "I haven't played in a while," he mentioned off-handedly.

"Is that your lame way of saying 'don't be surprised if I suck'?" Jake scoffed with a joking, but annoyingly smug, grin.

Chase flicked his hair out of his face, even more determined now to get this little boy to eat his words. It was bad enough that House had the talent to make him look like a fool, but he was not about to let this kid have that pleasure as well. With one last breath, and a prayer that his fingers would move fast enough, Chase plowed into possibly the most difficult song that could have been chosen at that time.

Although the acoustic sound was drastically different than that of the electric, Jake was impressed at the skill none-the-less. What blew him away even more than the actual song being played was that it was his physician playing it, and that this stranger who had a million better things to do was taking time out of his work day to amuse this insignificant patient. It was past experiences and people that told Jake not everyone was so kind as to do such a thing. Some would rather put their own needs and reputations ahead of the well-being of others.

In a fleeting thought, the aspiring guitarist couldn't help but wonder what it would be like to have a father or older brother like the doctor that sat in front of him. Someone who seemed to actually care and, by the looks of things, could teach him a few pointers on Van Halen. This man was the type of person Jake could find himself admiring; it was true that he had only met him once before for giving history, and it was also true that he had an odd way of speaking, but they had an easy time talking, and more importantly, he gave Jake the sort of paternal attention he had always dreamed of having.

"What are you doing?" An unfamiliar voice broke through Jake's thoughts. He looked to the door where two doctors he had never seen before stood.

A startled Chase looked over to the door as well, cursing to himself when he realized he knew the two doctors, and even worse, that the anger-filled question was directed at him. He leaned the guitar against the bed as he got to his feet, and stuffed his hands in his coat pockets, "I was just-"

"Neglecting your job?" Foreman asked. "I noticed. In fact I think the entire department noticed; we heard you from clear down the ha-"

"You're very good," Cameron interrupted, smiling at Chase's taken aback expression that was plastered across his Aussie features. Foreman may have been upset, but she knew Chase, and she knew this was not his way of slacking off. In fact, this was probably how he so often got good bedside manner comments from patients; he did not see patients as inanimate objects, but real people with real needs. It was a characteristic that came with being an intensivist. Neurologists focused on the brain, immunologists focused on the immune system, and an intensivist? They had to care for the person as a whole.

"What do you want me to say?" Chase finally asked when he realized the scolding glare of the neurologist was not leaving any time soon. He reluctantly followed Foreman out of the room at the request for a private conversation. Brushing his lab coat out of the way, Chase planted his hands on his hips, waiting for Foreman to shut the door.

Cameron saw the intense looks her two colleagues were giving one another through the glass-paneled windows, and couldn't help but smile slightly. They were both extremely proficient doctors, but came from entirely different backgrounds; hence their habitual exchange of blows. Foreman grew up in a rough neighborhood and had to struggle to make payments, whereas Chase was at the other end of the spectrum; he grew up with fine things and more money than his family knew what to do with. The hardships they both endured impacted their lives greatly, and embedded a sort of stubbornness within their personalities. Everyday was like trying to see oil mix with water, which honestly humored Cameron.

"I couldn't do a LP without his mum's consent, and I couldn't give them the antibiotics because they weren't even there," Chase explained defensively.

Foreman turned from the door to look at him, "And there was nothing else you could have been doing to better use your time?"

Chase shifted his footing with an ironic laugh, "You have no say in what I do with my time, so really, _you _are wasting _your _time by trying to scold me."

"You know, you can be the most-"

"Dr. Chase!" A sweet feminine voice called from down the hall. Foreman looked passed Chase to see a young woman walking briskly towards them. With every stride her deep auburn curls danced around her shoulders, and the ponytail of the little girl in her arms swung back and forth. The woman's fresh-looking face and well-kept petite frame masked the fact that she was a working mother extremely well. She came to a stop beside the two doctors. "How is Jake doing?"

"He seems a bit worn out, but nothing we can't fix," Chase replied, glancing at the big brown eyes the little girl had locked on him. "How was your lunch, Meagan?"  
An instant smile spread across her tiny lips, "Good!"

Foreman tucked his file beneath his arm, "Miss Leider-"

"Please, just Angela."

After a hesitant nod, he continued, "We believe your son may have meningitis." Seeing her eyes widen, he quickly went on, "It is completely treatable, but we just need your consent to perform a lumbar puncture."

"Is that completely necessary?" She asked moving her gaze from Foreman to Chase, "I heard it's painful."

"We'll give him some lidocaine to anesthetize the skin, but he will still feel some discomfort, "Chase explained. "But it's the most efficient way of finding out whether he has it or not."

"It's an extremely common procedure," Foreman began.

Inside the room, Cameron was preparing the cart for when the time for the procedure came. She looked over her shoulder at Jake when nothing had been said for quite a while to see him just gazing at the ceiling.

"Are you feeling okay, Jake?" She asked for reassurance. When all she heard was a mumble she repeated her question, turning to him. "Jake?"

"_Yes_," his answer was coated in petulance. Cameron decided to turn back around and check the manometer after that less than pleasant tone. Luckily, it was at that moment that Foreman and Angela reentered the room. The neurologist grabbed some rubber gloves off the cart and started pulling them over his fingers while Angela read over the consent form. When Meagan's weight began to take a toll on her slender arm, she sat her daughter down in a nearby chair with a picture book to occupy herself with while she signed the form.

"Jake? I'm Dr. Foreman," he introduced. "We're going to do a lumbar puncture. And I know it can sound intimidating, but basically I'm just going to take some fluid from around your spine. Nothing to worry about."

Jake looked around, "Where's Dr. Chase? I thought he was my doctor."

"Actually, Dr. House is your primary physician, but we are all attending," Foreman explained, strapping the thin cloth mask around his ears.

"No," Jake spat defiantly.

"Jacob," Angela chastised for his rudeness.

"I want Dr. Chase to do it," the boy demanded. Cameron gave an awkward exchange of glances with her colleague at the patient's unusual request.

"He's busy right now," Foreman lied as he took a seat on the stool beside the bed. He guided Jake to lie on his side, "Now I need you to-"

"No!" Jake yelled, smacking the doctor's hand away. "I don't want _you _to do it!"

"Jacob Allen!" His mother walked to his bedside, "What on earth has gotten into you?" She scolded. "Now, come on." Angela pulled him to lie on his side again with the help of Cameron and Foreman.

"This won't take long," Cameron assured him before getting her arm slapped away.

"Don't touch me!"

"We need you to cooperate, Jake," Foreman warned, tightening his grip around the boy. The young patient struggled to get free from their grasps, flailing his limbs around hoping to get a hit.

"Get off of me!" He screamed as the three attempted to restrain him down on the bed. "Where's Dr. Chase?"

"Mama!" Meagan cried from her seat at the back of the room. Even her young senses could tell her that something was horribly wrong, tiny sobs wracked her boy. She fearfully watched as the entire bed was jolting at the force of Jake's thrashing.

"We've got to get him under control before he kills himself!" Foreman yelled to Cameron as he glanced back at the ECG apprehensively.

When no relief could be seen in the near future, Cameron managed to free one of her hands. She indiscernibly reached down to her belt to page Chase. Just as she had pressed the button, the small form on the bed began thrashing even more violently against the three adults, throwing his entire body weight back and forth, and yelling outraged curses.

"This isn't like him!" Angela shouted overtop of her son's fit of temper. Foreman connected eyes with Cameron, expressing his extreme dissatisfaction with the situation. Fed up, he stood going over to the cabinet and rummaging around for a syringe.

The hospital room door slid open and in ran a familiar blonde Aussie. His smooth forehead wrinkled with utter confusion at the sight playing out before him; the boy which minutes ago barely had enough energy to pluck a string now was lashing out uncontrollably. Just as he made it to Foreman's vacant spot, one of Jake's fists escaped the women's grasps, and flung it at Chase. He pulled back, away from the bed, to avoid the blow before grabbing Jake's shoulders sternly.

"Jake!" He shouted in an attempt to bring him back to reality.

"He wouldn't let Foreman do the LP!" Cameron explained as she tried to restrain the boy's legs, "He insisted you do it!" Foreman came up next to Chase as the intensivist attempted to quiet the patient down.

"Jake, it's Dr. Chase! Calm down, buddy!" Jake focused his eyes on Chase for a mere second before his eyes slowly rolled to the back of his head, and he went limp. "Jake!"

"Chase," Cameron quietly called for his attention. Once she got his intense gaze to look at her she nodded to Foreman who now held an empty syringe.


	4. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

Amidst the merry, tinkering music, House stared up at the elevator's floor indicator, tossing a Vicodin into the air and catching it in his mouth. He rolled the pill around his mouth in a pondering manner before turning his gaze to the slightly displeased oncologist at his side.

"I'm sorry, were you talking?" House asked, though he knew the answer.

"Of course not," Wilson replied, "I was simply letting out some excess air that just happened to sound like words." He paused to let out a small sigh, and mull over what words to use, "You save lives, House. If nothing else, at least consider what that means." The two friends stood in silence the rest of the short ride, until the soft dinging of the elevator doors opening broke the still air. Without as much as a departing note, House limped out of the elevator with Wilson stepping out behind him. "Hey," he called to the diagnostician, switching his current case file to his other hand. House pivoted around his cane to face Wilson, expecting to hear more of his well-meant lecture. Instead, House had to catch the thick brochure that was tossed at him, "Still up for monster trucks Thursday?" House studied the cover of the brochure, and flipped through numerous pages.

"I'll bring the beer, you bring the girls," House stuffed the booklet in his back pocket, and started off for his office. Seeing there were no hard feelings, Wilson smiled before disappearing in the crowd of clipboards and gurneys.

The glass walls House walked by disclosed his two male ducklings discussing matters, armed with their case files. At his entrance, Foreman turned his attention to House from his lounged position at the table.

"Blood work is back," he informed.

"I wasn't aware we were doing blood work," House commented, walking past them and into his office. Chase glanced at Foreman before hopping down from his seat on the counter; they both followed after him.

"It's a good thing we did," the Aussie countered, dropping the file down onto the desk. House grabbed the folder as he eased back into his chair, swiveling back and forth casually.

His piercing blue eyes skimmed across the page, "It seems there is more to Chase's boy toy than we thought."

The intensivist rolled his eyes, grabbing House's over-sized tennis ball from his desktop. "You have got to be kidding me," he mumbled before reclining on the loveseat.

Foreman took a seat in front of House's desk, "The results show that he is anemic."

"And he has an excess of gamma-globulins in his blood," Chase tossed the ball in the air.

"Hypergammaglobulinemia," House nodded.

"_And _he has a low white count," Foreman added, shaking his head as he looked over the test results, "There is no way this is meningitis now; Chase was right."

"How unusual," commented the diagnostician as he skimmed over his copy.

Foreman furrowed his brow in confusion, "It's actually quite common for these three conditions-"

"No," House stopped him, "Since when is Chase ever right?" The neurologist suppressed a smile out of politeness as Chase looked on to House, actually insulted. He mimicked his intensivist's expression of disbelief, "Staring at me in a dumbfounded stupor won't change the truth." He paused to let his wit sink in. "So if it's not meningitis, what is it?"

Chase sat up a bit straighter, clearing his throat, "Well, it could be-"  
"Nope, don't think so," He interrupted. Lifting his cane into the air, he began to spin it between his fingers. Once he saw Chase's dejected face, he pouted a mocking lip at him before turning his face neutral. "Oh cheer up," House insisted, "It's nothing personal, I'm just going by statistics. Nine out of ten times, your wrong. So I'm just going with the odds."

"Grave's Disease," Chase blurted out before he could be interrupted, "That would account for his weakness, breathlessness, rapid pulse, irritability…"

"I think your boyfriend was a bit more than irritable," House mentioned.

Foreman took the condition into consideration, "No, it wouldn't explain the anemia."

"We gave him sedatives," Chase reminded, "Haldol can cause anemia."

He shook his head, "I didn't give him enough to result in anemia."

"Then it could be an iron deficiency," the Aussie suggested, looking to them challengingly.

"Jake's blood pressure is low, not high like in Grave's Disease," the neurologist's argument made a small smile creep onto House's features.

"Any rebuttal?" House asked, his eyes on the flustered wombat, "Or are you just going to admit that you are, once again-"

"The CSF culture results are in," Cameron interrupted as she briskly walked over to House's desk, "Foreman was right, he has meningitis." She confirmed, handing the test results over to the diagnostician. Foreman immediately exchanged surprised, and extremely confused, eye contact with his blonde colleague.

"Chase, go get the boy on some Ampicillin. That will get rid of the listeria monocytogenes, but won't affect his anemia," House ordered, leaning back in his chair, deep in thought. Chase tossed the ball to Foreman, getting to his feet.

"Wait, he's anemic?" Cameron asked as the team began to disperse; Chase out the door, and House back into the meeting room. The immunologist and neurologist quickly followed, taking a seat at the table. The familiar squeaking sound of the marker hitting the white board filled the room.

"Meningitis, anemia, hypergammaglobulinemia, transient psychosis," House read off before looking to his team expectantly.

"Lymphocytic Choriomeningitis," Foreman suggested.

"No appetite loss, no testicular pain, no vomiting, and LCMV does not account for the anemia," came House's bored response. "Try again."

Cameron stared at the board, "Well, what about Listeriosis? That covers nearly all of his symptoms."

"_Nearly _all, but it doesn't explain the psychosis or low blood pressure," Foreman countered, "It-"

"Marijuana," Cameron continued, "Marijuana can cause all sorts of psychological symptoms. It could be Listeriosis and drug use. We should get a tox screen."

"No need," House leaned on his cane, "Listeriosis is caused by the same string of bacteria as his meningitis, listeria monocytogenes. If he has it then the Ampicillin will get rid of it."

"Then we should know in a few days if we were right," she stated, pulling her glasses gently from her face with a sigh.

Down the hall, in Jake's room, Chase hooked up a banana bag of Ampicillin to distribute intravenously. His eyes followed the IV to Jake, whose head was lying limply on the pillow as his body had slowly given into a peaceful, and thankfully natural, sleep.

"This medicine will heal him?" A disquieted whisper floated from the end of the bed. Through the darkness Chase could see the small silhouette of Angela, who stood with a watchful eye over her son, her arms were clasped around herself in a nervous embrace.

"The tests came back positive for meningitis; this will clear his system of any trace of the causing bacteria," came the answer as he approached her.

She could not seem to move her gaze from her son's sleeping figure, "You didn't answer the question."

Chase slid his hands into his coat pockets as he looked to the boy, "This will rid him of meningitis," he shifted his gaze to look at her, "but his outburst yesterday was not a fluke, something caused it."

"You just haven't figured out what?" Angela asked, meeting his gaze.

"Unfortunately, no, but we are taking that into account along with the results of the blood tests. They came back revealing low red and white blood count, and high gamma-globulins."

She shook her head, not understanding, "So, what does that mean?"

"The red blood cells help deliver oxygen throughout the body, if he doesn't have enough then the body may not get the amount of oxygen it needs to function," he explained as simple as he could.

"And the others?" She asked rubbing her arms nervously.

"White blood cells fight off infections, the less white blood cells there are the less protection his body has from infections," he paused momentarily, "and gamma-globulins are also used to fight off infections, so it's a good thing they are increased right now, but we still need to figure out why."

"Mom," Jake's voice called out hoarsely. Looking to her son, she could see even through the thick darkness that all color had washed away from his face.

"What is it dear?" She asked, moving to his side, and clasping his hand securely in hers. His eyes darted frantically back and forth between the covered windows and the glass walls. "Darling, what's wrong?"

A cold breath caught in his throat as panic struck through his entire body with a warm rush of adrenaline. Standing still at the door of his room was a large dark figure clothed in ratty strips of black and crimson cloth. The crimson seemed to be melting from the tips of his shredded garments, leaving deep red puddles at his feet that resembled the color of the ever piercing eyes that stared right into Jake's.

"Make it leave," He pleaded, grabbing his mother's arms tightly. Gushes of tears streamed down his face. "Please! Make it leave!" Chase looked around the room perplexed before moving to stand on the opposite side of the bed as Angela.

"There is nothing there, Jake," he assured. The boy landed his gaze on the doctor, staring at him as though it were the first time he had heard his voice. Shifting his focus, he looked past Chase to the wall. Dozens of similar, gore-covered beings were morphing their way through the walls, and into the room. They brought out an excruciating scream from Jake's throat, torrents of tears now flowing endlessly in utter terror.

The biggest of the menacing creatures stood at the foot of his bed, letting out a deep, maniacal snicker. Slowly, ever slowly, he began crawling onto the bed and towards Jake's trembling form. The thick rusty blood that excreted from the being's flesh began to soak through the thin hospital sheets; the only thing that shielded him from contact with the creature.

With one swift motion, Jake grabbed the IVs that were placed in his nose and ripped them out as he attempted to stand, and move as far back against the head board as he could.

"Jake! Nothing's there!" Chase shouted as he made an effort to restrain the flailing limbs that defended Jake from the approaching demon. While his attention was momentarily focused on Chase, Angela grabbed around his torso to try and get him to sit back down. The sudden touch startled the boy; he lashed out, backhanding his mother. She cried out, staggering backwards as she clutched her face. Chase quickly punched the alert button on the side of Jake's bed railing before roughly snatching him around the waist, and forcing him down.

The boy covered his ears as the dozens of demons began screeching loudly at him. "Make them stop!" His hoarse voice wailed out desperately.

Chase shook the boy gently to get his attention, "Look at me, Jake! Look at me!" He stared at Jake intensely until Jake met his eyes. "Nobody is there. It's just your mum, and me, Dr. Chase." The boy looked at him, his features still contorted in panicked fright. He suddenly grabbed Chase around the chest tightly, and wept. The startled doctor tensed in defense before he realized that he was not being attacked but embraced. He awkwardly, reached a hand up to smooth down Jake's hair comfortingly.

Several nurses ran in at that moment, their faces displayed a bit of confusion as they were expecting mayhem to be where they had heard the commotion coming from. Instead, they found the distressing aftermath; a battered mother, and an emotionally vulnerable boy.


	5. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

Once again, the diagnostic team's lounge was filled with early morning silence; only the contagious sounds of yawns filled the small room. The three co-workers sat at the long table, sipping their coffee, and reading the newspaper; Chase stared expressionlessly at the blank sudoku square on the page with his pencil clutched lightly between his teeth. When a headache threatened to creep onto his forehead, he put his pencil down and grabbed his coffee. Maybe the caffeine would fend it off. Foreman glanced briefly over the top of the sports page at Chase before letting out a small chuckle, attracting the attention of the other two.

"What?" Cameron asked, raising an eyebrow at his randomness.

"I was just thinking about the other day," he paused to set down the paper, which revealed his amused smile even more. "I mean, if I were being attacked by a demon, I wouldn't exactly count on Chase to protect me."

Chase remained leaning over his sudoku, "Of course not. You would just use your vast gangster skills to kick the demonic bastard back to Hell."

Foreman laughed, "More or less."

"If Cameron saw a demon she'd just offer it her sympathy," Chase smiled before the two men laughed.

"I would not," she defended, though a small smile crept up onto her face even so.

"No, she'd just cry," Foreman prodded, bringing out another laugh from Chase. "Like you," he added, looking pointedly at the intensivist.

"Hey," Chase scolded.

Cameron shook her head, "This is ridiculous," she commented, getting up from her seat and going to the counter. "Can some one tell me why we are even discussing this?"

Chase leaned back in his chair, "We could talk about the latest pharmaceutical discovery if you like." He exchanged a humorous grin with Foreman.

"Or we can debate the efficiency of the new cricothyroidotomy technique," suggested the neurologist flippantly.

Cameron rolled her eyes before looking to the men, "Very funny."

"We're allowed to have bizarre conversations every now and then," Chase assured her. His eyes scanned his newspaper page; he let out a breath when he realized one of the obvious answers. "Three," he thought verbally as he wrote the number in one of the small boxes.

"Dr. Chase?" All three diagnostic members looked to the door where Angela stood; silent tears ran down her bruised cheek.

"Angela, what's wrong?" Chase asked as he got to his feet. Any sign of contentment melted from his features, much like the other doctors in the room.

"Jake. He-" she paused to stop her voice from wavering, "he's so confused." Was all she could say as she tried so desperately not to break down in front of the three doctors, but a single sob managed to make it's way out of her throat. "I'm so sorry," the heart-broken woman apologized as she covered her mouth lightly with her hand. "He-he doesn't recognize that I'm his mother."

Chase glanced at his colleagues, then Angela, "Come on, we'll go see him, alright?" He laid a hand on her back, guiding the petite woman out of the lounge and towards Jake's room. Without a word, Foreman and Cameron quickly followed behind them.

"Hey Jake, how are you feeling?" Chase asked approaching the bed.

Jake sat up more nervously, "I'm, um…I'm…" he spent a few moments searching for the right word. "I'm okay?" He nearly asked rather than stated.

"Can you do me a favor?" Chase questioned as he took a step towards Jake and leaned in to check his eyes briefly, "Can you give me the name of everyone in the room?"

The boy looked from one person to another repeatedly, trying to grasp their names that he knew was there in the back of his mind. He rubbed his forehead, "I know you two," he said glancing from Chase to his mother, "You both look familiar, but the two in the back I have never seen before."

"Can you give me any names?" Chase pressed. When he saw Jake reluctantly shake his head, he turned to go consult with the others, nearly knocking the guitar which leaned against the bed to the floor. He caught it before it fell, and picked it up to move it safely out of the way.

"Sorry about that," Jake apologized, seeing Chase nearly trip over it. "I think someone left that in here; they'll probably come looking for it."

"Sweetie," Angela interjected, "That… that's yours."

"Why would I have a guitar if I don't even know how to play?" Jake asked looking between the two adults as if they had lost their minds.

The intensivist set it gently aside, perplexed by the latest onset of symptoms. He looked over his shoulder at his teammates, who returned his troubled expression. They would have to contact House about the latest advancement, and soon.

Exam room one. House stood outside the door, hoping if he waited long enough he would wake up from this horrible nightmare: his day of clinic duty. The throbbing pain that pulsed up and down his leg told him that this unfortunately was, indeed, reality. He popped a pill into his mouth with a curse before stepping through the door; inside a young woman sat on the examination table. He couldn't help but furrow his brow at the oddity that sat before him. The girl, though her profile said she was of Irish decent, was extremely deep in skin tone.

"Go to the beach often?" He asked as he shut the door behind him.

"Um, not during this time of fall," the girl answered, looking to him oddly. House grabbed one of the nearby chairs and took a seat; he glanced over her medical file at his usual, leisurely, pace. The patient shifted uncomfortably amidst the silence, "I've been really tired lately; no matter how much sleep I get. And my stomach has been aching for weeks."

House glanced up at her, "I think you are forgetting two very crucial symptoms."

"What?" She asked, confused.

"For one," House began as he stood up with the support of his cane, "you look like you got carried away with the 'tan in a can' recently."

"But I haven't-"

"And two," he interrupted, giving her a warning look for chiming in during his explanation, "your hair."

At the mention of her hair, she reached a hand up to touch it lightly, "What's wrong with my hair?"

"I take it you're supposed to be a blonde; only you look more like the color of," he paused to give this good thought, "dirty seagull feathers." The girl's face contorted in horror at his description with obvious indignation. "You're a vegetarian," he stated, taking a step forward.

"Yes, but how'd you-"

"Hyperpigmentation; the darkening of your skin. And a decreased pigmentation of your hair," he explained simply. "Put that with the inevitable alopecia symptom, and you have yourself protein deficiency; most commonly found among vegans."

She furrowed her brow, "Alopecia? What's that?"

"The funny thing is, while you may be sparing a few heifers' lives, you are killing off your body's strength. In many areas," to further explain himself, he reached up to her head and effortlessly pulled a chunk of hair from her head. She gasped, staring agape at the hair in his hand. "_This _is alopecia," he answered, placing the clump of hair into her palm. She speechlessly reached up and touched the bald spot on the side of her head.

At the small vibration felt at his hip, House looked down to his beeper, "I would suggest snacking on your purse on the way home," he nodded to the little handbag she had at her side. "Prada only uses the best specimens for their leather products." He swung the door open, and began limping out. "Eat a steak for Heaven's sake!" House yelled over his shoulder, "It could save your life!"

"Who beeped me, and interrupted my clinic session?" House asked as he walked across the diagnostic lounge.

"I did," Cameron answered hesitantly, a little confused by his rather cold tone.

He looked to her, "God bless you." The two male ducklings stifled a laugh at House's aversion for clinic duty, and unusual reference to God; he leaned on his cane. "Now, what are the newest symptoms? This is assuming you actually had something relevant to tell me, and didn't just want to have tea with me."

"Presenile dementia," Foreman responded as he watched House write it up on the board.

"It explains a lot," Chase commented. "The outburst of rage; the confusion; the loss of abilities."

"But you put the dementia with the hallucinations, and you've got symptoms of possible brain damage," Foreman mentioned solemnly.

"Brain damage?" Chase repeated absurdly, "That's a rash diagnosis."

"You have a better explanation?" He challenged.

"A lot of drugs can cause dementia," Cameron answered for him, "Cocaine, any kind of inhalants; that would explain the hallucinations too."

"No," Chase argued simply.

She looked to him when his answer caught her off guard, "What do you mean 'no'?"

"He doesn't do drugs."

"We haven't done a tox screen," Foreman reminded him.

House formed a small grin, "Can't you see? The patient and his doctor are like two peas in a pod; I'm sure they've discussed the topic."

Cameron rounded on Chase, "Weren't you the one that said no kid will ever tell their parents about doing drugs?" She asked scathingly.

Chase's accent began to thicken along with his obvious irritability. He hated it when his own words were used against him, "I'm not his parents."

"Oh, that's right," Cameron mocked, "You're his big _buddy_, aren't you?"

"Guys, cool it," Foreman interrupted, seeing the angry intensity in his blonde co-worker's eyes. "The reason I was thinking brain damage was because of the meningitis."

"We treated the meningitis," Chase reminded as he leaned back in his chair, sullenly spinning his pencil between his fingers.

"Though his symptoms from it haven't been improving very drastically," Cameron added in.

"That's because there is another infection that can occur simultaneously with meningitis, and produce similar symptoms with the added ones of hallucinations and dementia," House explained.

Foreman nodded, "Encephalitis." Cameron and Chase looked at one another in disbelief; it was the most obvious answer. "The brain becomes inflamed and causes alteration in the brain's functioning." The Aussie paid little attention to Foreman's explanation and turned his focus to House.

"But what about the blood abnormalities?" He asked, "Encephalitis wouldn't explain them."

"This case seems to be a string of illnesses. One is connected to another. Don't think of meningitis and encephalitis as two conditions," House began.

"But as symptoms connected to a bigger problem," Cameron finished.

House looked to her indignantly, "You stole the punch line."

Chase stared at the table top, deep in thought, "Lymphocytic Choriomeningitis?"

"That _would _explain everything," Foreman agreed.

"But the blood abnormalities," Cameron reminded with a bit of annoyance that nothing covered all symptoms.

"Cameron's right," House thought aloud as he studied the board, "Whatever he has caused these two conditions, plus the blood defects."

"Like an immune deficiency," Chase suggested, "All these symptoms are extremely common in people with HIV." At that proposal, House grabbed Chase's copy of Jake's file, skimming through it. Foreman was doing the same.

"There's no history of HIV," the neurologist commented as he read through it.

House rubbed his forehead with great aggravation, "Because there is no history on the _dad _whatsoever." A heavy air fell over the room, crushing down on Chase as all eyes landed on him.

"Unbelievable," Foreman muttered at the incompetence of it all.

"I couldn't find out anything about-"

"I don't want your excuses!" House yelled with extreme frustration, "We do whatever we have to in order to get a full history! If the dad _has _HIV then we just wasted a week killing off the boy's damn brain cells!" House threw the folder back at Chase; he gave himself a few moments to let his irritation settle down. The three young doctors busied themselves so that they could avoid eye contact with House at all costs; especially Chase who was busy recollecting the papers that had flown from his folder.

House, slightly embarrassed by his outburst, began to head out of the lounge, "Keep him in the ICU, tell mommy she needs to wait outside, and put him on acyclovir."

Once the doors shut behind House, Chase looked to his colleagues, "You two go ahead and go to lunch; I can get him on the antibiotics." The sound of shame that laced his usually bold voice stuck out to Foreman and Cameron like a raven among doves.

She watched as he stooped down to nab the last sheet of paper that had slid beneath the table, "Chase…"

"I'm fine," he assured once he recognized the sympathy in her voice. He deserved to be reprimanded by House, and yet he knew it was an action she could never bare to watch, no matter who it was.

"I'm sure if House knew that-"

"Cameron," Chase interrupted, "He had every right to be upset; I screwed up."

Foreman laughed at the understatement of that phrase, "Yeah, you did."

"Thanks," he muttered, shoving the file under his arm, and exiting the lounge. In order to redeem himself he would have to contact Jake's father and get the medical information he needed to fill out the history; it sounded easy enough.


	6. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

(Revised Version)

_Collin Kearns, president of Kearns Co construction industry, 637 Grenville Drive in the Creekside subdivision, 555-9020_; Chase read over the scrap piece of paper he obtained after talking with Angela regarding Jake's father. A quick phone call was all it would take to finish the history, and then he could start accumulating his dignity as a trained physician back. First, he would have to cut pages of questions down into a single phone conversation that would last no longer than ten minutes. As he skimmed over the questionnaire, he failed to notice Cameron sitting at the corner desk responding to House's mail for him. She watched as Chase dialed the number and held the receiver between his ear and shoulder, waiting for an answer on the other end. Her attention was drawn back into the mound of apology letters that needed House's forged signature.

Chase pulled a pencil out from behind his ear to jot down notable details of the conversation; the ringing came to an abrupt stop.

"Hello?" A deep voice on the other end answered with a sleepy drawl.

"Hello, I'm calling for a Collin Kearns?" Chase asked.

"That'd be me."

He readied his pencil in his hand, "This is Dr. Chase from Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital. Your son has-"

"I no longer have affiliation with my ex-wife or her children," he said roughly, cutting Chase off.

"I understand that, sir, but I just need a few questions answered, and I will leave you alone," he explained.

"You will leave me alone whether I answer the damned questions or not ," Collin retorted with a bit of a slurred speech.

"Mr. Kearns, these questions are extremely important," the urgency in his voice made Cameron look up from her work curiously, "I just need to know some details about your medical history."

"I don't have to reveal any of that information to you," Jake's father insisted.

"If there is anything you don't want others to know, I assure you, it's all kept completely confidential. You will not have to worry about your privacy being at stake," Chase looked to his list of questions absent-mindedly while he waited for a response. When there was a long silence, a crease came over Chase's brow, "Mr. Kearns?" The sudden sound of the dial tone made him look to the receiver dumbfounded. With determination, he redialed Collin's number, and tapped his pencil agitatedly while he waited for an answer. "Hello, Mr. Kearns. If you would-" Click. He let out a disgruntled breath before dialing the number once more. It rang as usual until a mechanical female voice announced some frustrating news. "Disconnected?" He slammed the phone back onto its deck. "Drunken bludger," Chase cursed, slipping into his Aussie slang.

"A bludger?" Cameron laughed; he turned quickly in his chair to look at her.

"Oh, sorry, I didn't know you were in here," he said, slightly startled.

She smiled, "I'm glad I was. You can be very entertaining."

"I'm relieved you were able to find humor at my expense," he commented, standing from his seat at the table. A small sigh escaped his lips. "There is no way he's going to cooperate over the phone," Chase admitted as he grabbed his leather jacket out of the tall cupboard.

"Are you going to Collin's house?" She asked, getting to her feet.

Chase glanced at her over his shoulder as he slipped an arm into its sleeve, "I think it might be faster that way, rather than getting hung up on again. You can come if you want."

"Yeah, I need a break from all this," she said, nodding to the massive pile of letters. She grabbed her coat, and walked with Chase out of the lounge. "Maybe we should leave a note for the others, so they know where we went."

Chase shook his head, "Foreman is busy with clinic duty, and General Hospital just started its two hour time slot. They'll both be too preoccupied to notice we're even gone." The two doctors were able to exit the hospital without turning a single head their way; unfortunately, when they exited the hospital, they ended up entering into terrestrial downpour. Running quickly across the flooded parking lot, they came to Chase's black G6. He quickly hopped in, and buckled up as he looked to the passenger's side. Cameron stood outside the door, pounding on the car window.

"Chase!" She yelled over the thunderous sound of the rain hitting the windshield, "Unlock the door!" He watched her with a mischievous smile, putting a hand up to cup his ear, and mouthed the question '_what?_'. The rain matted the strands of hair that escaped her ponytail to her face, and darkened the color of her gray trench coat about three shades; it was quite a pathetic sight really. Hearing the small click of the unlocking doors, she jumped into the passenger's seat before smacking him on the arm. "You are such a jerk sometimes."

He smiled with a small chuckle, "Sorry, I couldn't help myself." As much as she wanted to be furious for his antics, she found herself letting out a light laugh as well. Chase looked through the back window of his car as he began to pull out.

"I hope this guy doesn't give us trouble," Cameron commented as she wiped the wet drops from her face.

He glanced at her with an uneasy smile, "I wouldn't hold your breath to be honest." With that he cranked up the volume on his stereo, and sped off with the unintentional squeal of his tires that made Cameron grip the handle on the door nervously.

Chase craned his neck to read the addresses through the rain once they had made their way onto Grenville Drive. "Do you see a 637?" He asked glancing down at the scrap paper to double check the numbers.

"641," she read off, "639. This should be it." She pointed to a large plantation style house with a round about driveway; Chase turned the wheel to pull in.

"Let's pray he cooperates," Chase sighed, and began to get out of the car as he shoved his keys into his pants' pocket. Cameron instinctively glanced around the rain-saturated yards at the distant sound of a dog barking; she quickly set a faster pace to get to the covered porch. "Nice place," her colleague observed with a knock on the solid wood door. The pitter-patter of light feet on the damp soil soon came from behind them.

Cameron turned to see a sight that brought out a frightful gasp from her throat; a large German Shepard stood tensely observing the two strangers that stood in its territory. "Chase," Cameron pushed his shoulder to make him face the monster. She watched it terrified, "I hate dogs."

"Cameron, not all dogs are vicious," he assured her calmly. "Oh, wow. He's a beaut, isn't he?" He stooped down, and put his hand out towards the dog, "Come here…come on…" An abrupt bark made them both jump out of their skin; he slowly got to his feet as a low growl rumbled forebodingly. "Shh, we're not going to hurt you," the Australian assured. The fury lips curled back to reveal large fangs, and its hair attempted to stand on end despite the falling rain; it advanced towards them with a deafening bark. "Whoa, good dog," he pointed a stern finger at the approaching canine, "Stay."

"Not all dogs are vicious, huh?" Cameron slid over to stand behind Chase, watching the dog over his shoulder with wide eyes, "I _hate _dogs."

"So I've heard," Chase commented. Inch by inch, he reached over to the door bell, ringing it several times. "Come on, answer the bloody door." Another round of heated barks reverberated throughout their eardrums.

"Can't you get it to go away?" Cameron asked hopefully, never having had much contact with dogs.

"Yeah, sure Cam," the intensivist answered sarcastically, "How would you like me to go about doing that?" He rang the doorbell repeatedly. Suddenly, the dog's ears fell flat against its head as the front door opened up.

"Greta, shut up!" Collin yelled. He shifted his gaze to look at the two huddled together in fright, "Can I help you?"

Chase looked to him, surprised by his extensive height, "Yes. I spoke to you earlier on the phone, and-"

The large man groaned at the familiar accent, "Oh damn, I remember you." He folded his arms across his broad chest, "Why don't you give me one good reason why I shouldn't throw you to the curb?"

"We just have a few simple questions," Cameron explained, "Can't we just have a couple minutes of your time?"

Collin looked to them both skeptically for a moment, "I'm not going to get you two to leave until I answer these questions, am I?"

"Afraid not," Cameron answered with a side smile.

"Fine, come in," He stepped aside, bumping awkwardly into the doorframe, and let the two wet colleagues enter into his grand foyer. He shut the door behind them. "What do you need to know?" He asked, grabbing a beer bottle off a nearby table; the potent smell of alcohol filled the physicians' sinus cavities.

"Well," Cameron glanced at Chase before deciding to start things off herself, "First of all, do you have any kind of chronic condition or disorder that you are currently having to deal with? Or had to deal with in the past?"

"Nope," he answered shortly. "Next question?"

Chase looked to him skeptically, "Are you absolutely positive? No HIV or-"

"I don't have anything like that," he interrupted rather irritated.

Chase took a deep breath, knowing this could be interesting, "Have you shared needles lately or slept with a new wo-"  
"Hey!" Collin's eyes suddenly became cold, "What the hell do you take me for?"

"We're just being cautious," Cameron assured him gently.

"Sir, please answer the question. It's important," Chase urged.

Collin shook his head, "I told you, I don't have HIV or any other erotic-based disease. I don't sleep around."

Chase folded his arms in his usual discussion manner, "Have you gotten any tattoos lately? Where maybe a tainted needle was used?"

"I don't have any tattoos _or _piercings," he replied, taking a large swig of his drink. Chase watched him closely; eyes dilated, eye twitching with obvious nystagmus, uncoordinated movements.

"Chase, maybe we should come back later," Cameron suggested, noticing the signs as well.

He looked to her, and responded in a hushed voice, "If he's inebriated we may be able to get the information easier."

"What'd you say?" Collin asked as he attempted to stand straighter.

"Nothing," he took a deep breath before deciding to go for it, "Mr. Kearns, do you attend parties often?"

"Once and a while," he narrowed his eyes at the Aussie in curiosity, "What's it to you?"

"Are there any parties that you went to, and looking back on it you don't exactly remember the outcome?" Chase asked, watching the man nervously. It was a topic he was sure the sober Collin would not approve of, and he hoped the intoxicated Collin would be too dense to understand that he would be putting his pride on the line with this discussion. "Maybe if times were going good, and you had a bit too much to drink?"

"I know how to hold my liquor," he retorted indignantly.

Chase flicked his eyebrows up in irony, "Apparently."

"Mr. Kearns," Cameron quickly interjected, realizing Collin had picked up on Chase's sarcasm, "We just want to make sure that there was no possibility whatsoever that you may have contracted HIV."

"I don't sleep around!" Collin nearly shouted, setting his empty bottle roughly onto the table.

"We never accused you of that," Chase assured him. "Look, we'll move on, alright?"

"No," he spat, folding his arms over his chest once more.

"No?" Chase repeated taken aback, "But we've just started, we-"

"I don't want to answer anymore questions," Collin interrupted, leaning defiantly back against the table.

"We're not done," Chase replied boldly, "Jake is going to _die _if we don't find out what's wrong with him. You can help us save him."

"He's none of my business anymore," the gruff man replied.

Chase planted his hands on his hips irritably, "He's your _son_; he's _going _to be your business until you breathe your last breath, which may not be long by the looks of things."

"I left them over three years ago," Collin said through gritted teeth, "They are no longer a part of my life."

"You may deny having anything to do with Jake's life, but you are a part of it whether you are the one who teaches him to play catch or whether you are the one he always wished would," he glanced to the floor briefly, trying to control the anger he could feel threatening to rise, "You would sacrifice Jake's life just so you wouldn't have to answer a few questions; so you could sit and down another _cold _one?" He asked with slight mockery.

"Shut your filthy mouth, pretty boy," Collin threatened, advancing towards them. "You can't call it 'sacrificing' if what your giving up never meant anything to you in the first place!"

"Chase…" Cameron started, seeing Collin's fuse was short, but Chase was too lost in thought with his blood near its boiling point.

"So this is what your life is all about then?" the intensivist's voice became harsher than Cameron had ever heard it, "You _abandoned _a family who was counting on your support, who _loved _you, to live alone at the bottom of your grubby beer bottles."

"Shut the hell up!" Collin yelled, not approving of the observations being made on his lifestyle. A reoccurring pain that had been frequenting Collin's lungs had once again made an appearance as his chest was heaving in anger.

"Let's go," Cameron grabbed her friend's arm to pull him along; this was one drunken man she did not want further provoked.

As Chase looked to Collin, he couldn't help but see the distorted image of his own father and mother combined into one, "You're a selfish bastard." The fuse had caught light, and Collin could no longer hold in the anger that had been bottling up; he unleashed his fury, throwing his fist violently at Chase. A sharp pain exploded throughout Chase's face as he was knocked to the floor mercilessly.

"Chase!" Cameron immediately knelt down beside his crumpled form, taking his face into her hands, and gently pushed his blonde locks out of his eyes. When she saw that he was conscious, she wrapped her arms around his waist to help him up off the floor.

"Maybe you'll take my suggestion to leave more seriously next time, huh, goldilocks?" Collin scoffed, grabbing his bottle for another swig.

"No, we'll take you more seriously when you sober," Chase muttered curtly. He headed to the door with Cameron, who glanced at Collin disappointedly as she shut the door behind them. When she turned around she saw Chase had gotten a few paces ahead, and quickly caught up to him.

"Are you alright?" She asked now that Chase's pride would not be compromised in front of Collin.

"I'm fine," he replied impassively, getting into the car.

She looked to the darkening bruise on Chase's cheek bone once she had joined him in the car, then to his distant eyes. "What happened in there?" She asked hesitantly.

"The guy was being a jerk," he answered vaguely as he pushed the throbbing pain aside, and pulled out of the driveway.

"Chase, you deal with jerks all the time," she mused. "You should have known you were aggravating him with what you were saying. It's unlike you to be insensitive about that." In reply, her colleague just shook his head, and turned up the stereo's volume; he was drowning out any chance of discussion, and Cameron was completely aware of that. They had worked together for a few years now, and there were times she wished she knew just what was going through his mind. He was never one to openly talk about himself or what personal struggles he was dealing with. She took one last look at his solemn face before diverting her eyes out the window.

Back at the hospital, Foreman had finished his clinic hours and was walking down every hall with the hope of finding one of his teammates. No one was in the lounge; only a few pathologists were in the lab. The neurologist thought for sure that Chase would be in the ICU, but he struck out there, too. Finally, he opened the door to exam room three and found his boss engrossed in a melodramatic General Hospital scene. Apparently an overly-busty woman had been cured of amnesia, again, by a doctor who was secretly her lover.

"House," Foreman leaned against the doorframe, "have you seen Chase or Cameron?"

"Yes," he glanced over at his unconvinced duckling, "Oh, you mean recently? No."

"I can't find them anywhere."

"Both of them gone missing…" House pondered that while he shut off the rolling credits and limped past Foreman. "Maybe they are getting naughty in one of the broom closets," he suggested with a flick of his eyebrows.

"Somehow I doubt that," he followed House into the elevator.

House leaned on his cane, "You can never be too sure; the wombat's a sly one."

"I checked on Jake today," the neurologist said, changing the topic to something actually worth while, "his swelling seems to be reducing already." The two doctors stepped out of the elevator and headed to their lounge; Foreman weaved in and out of passing doctors, while House played chicken with them until they were the ones who moved.

"Is his comprehension and recollection improving?"

"Seems to be," Foreman nodded. "At least he knows who his mom is."

House stopped just outside the lounge to see Cameron and Chase sitting at the table inside, "No wonder you couldn't find them; talk about hidden." Foreman looked inside, "They weren't there before." With that the two walked through the doors to join the lost ducklings. Chase sat at the table copying information from one folder into another, while Cameron sat with her chair facing him, dabbing his face with an ice pack.

She looked up when she heard familiar footsteps, "Hi Foreman."

"Hi," he returned, though sounding a little apprehensive. He furrowed his brow at Chase, "What happened to you?" The shock in Foreman's voice made House come over and peer at the Aussie's face as well.

"We just went to ask Jake's dad some questions," He answered, continuing on with his work.

"I see it went well," Foreman remarked, taking a seat across from them.

Chase glanced at him, "We got all the information we needed." The neurologist contorted his face in confusion, then examined what Chase was doing.

"You lifted his medical file from archives?" He asked with utter surprise.

"The man was drunk," Chase explained defensively, "I thought I could get the information we needed out of him, but it was no use."

Foreman raised his hands in the air as a peace offering, "Nono, I'm proud." While the ducklings carried on a civil conversation, House couldn't stop looking at the bruise that tarnished the Aussie's normally fair skin with a twisted grin. It was extremely amusing to him; he never thought Chase would be capable of provoking such a violent act.

"What'd you say?" House broke into the conversation. Everyone looked to him oddly, as the question made no sense at that point in their discussion.

"What are you talking about?" Chase asked as a furrow creased his brow.

"The bruise," House pointed to the intensivist's face with his cane, "What did you say to get the bruise?"

"Nothing," he lied.

The diagnostician let out a snort of disbelief, "Oh come on, you had to aggravate him somehow. You aggravate me all the time; I just want to know what you did to push _him _over the edge."

"Nothing," Chase assured again. "Besides, he was intoxicated. His reactions were out of proportion." When silence was the only reply, he added halfheartedly, "I-I called him a selfish bastard." Chase shrugged, though he was surprised when the answer made both of the other male doctors laugh.

"Only you could have refined insults like that," Foreman chuckled; he had expected to hear some outrageous and utterly offensive slur that sent the man over the edge, but Chase's remark was extremely weak in his book.

Cameron rolled her eyes at Foreman's comment, "That wasn't _all _he said. I mean, a guy would have to be pretty unstable to break at that one insult alone, even if he is drunk."

"So then what did you say?" House pressed further.

"Hopefully something stronger than 'selfish bastard'," Foreman smiled.

"I don't remember," Chase said, dismissing the topic. He cleared his throat, using it to mark the beginning of a new topic. "He's clean. No HIV, no nothing," he stated, coping a few more facts into Jake's file.

"Proving once again that one of your theories is crap," House concluded.

"It fit all of Jake's symptoms," Chase argued.

"Maybe not anymore, Jake's improving," Foreman commented, knowing that it was a piece of information that would mean something to Chase, "I visited him earlier."

"Yeah?" Chase looked to him, interested, "Maybe I'll go see him."

Foreman nodded, "He was asking for you."

Before getting up to leave, Chase turned his attention to Cameron, taking the icepack out of her grasp, "Thanks, Cam."

She smiled, "Your welcome." He stood, going to the refrigerator, and placing the ice back into the freezer. Walking out of the lounge, and towards the locker room to scrub in, he couldn't help but think about the conversation that just took place. He was rather puzzled over it. _I thought 'selfish bastard' was pretty good_, he thought to himself.


	7. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

"There's a lot of ugly things in this world, son. I wish I could keep 'em all away from you. That's never possible." Compassionate, strong, selfless, held high morals; Atticus Finch was the perfect dad. If only Jake had been blessed with such a father, then all would seem right. Financially, emotionally, socially. His mom was lonely, he could see it in her eyes; the way she watched passing couples longingly, or the pain in her voice when she corrected those who called her Mrs. Kearns or Mrs. Leider. She had been willing to stay with Collin regardless of the undesirable living conditions, yet he still left, taking with him any admiration Jake may have once looked upon him with. Now he had no one to model himself after except for a select few fictional men he read about in the many novels that were beyond his grade level, his favorite being "To Kill A Mockingbird". He liked it, not for the plot, but for the interaction between Atticus and his children.

Jake's eyes drifted from the words on the page to the ticket stub he used as a bookmark; it was from a baseball game that his father had taken him to several weeks ago while his mom was away. He was given a glimpse into a life with a dad who cared, that desired to spend time with him. That's what the out-in-public side of Collin appeared to be like, a flawless father, but the one who stepped through the house's front door was someone of a drastically different character. One that Jake utterly loathed, and the complete opposite of Atticus who "is the same in his house as he is on the public streets". Collin was haughty, narcissistic, and made Angela miserable.

The thought of his mother made Jake turn his attention towards the closed wall shades that concealed his room from passing speculators. He could see her shadow talking to a doctor, who he could tell through the slightly shear panels was Dr. Chase; his silhouette moved to enter Jake's room.

"Hey," Jake greeted, eyeing the purple scrubs that Chase wore amusingly as the doctor slid the door shut behind him. He withheld a small smile at the ridiculous attire, but it soon vanished when he noticed the deep purple bruise that covered Chase's left cheekbone. The Aussie was unable to even return the greeting before Jake spoke up. "He hit you, didn't he?" The expression on Chase's face spoke for itself. "Did you hit him back?"

"There was no reason to," he replied as he took a seat beside Jake.

"Some people would say it was for self-defense."

"In this situation it would have been purely for revenge," Chase explained. "He wasn't attacking me; it was just one burst of anger."

Jake nodded, "It's okay, mom never hit him back either." Several creases formed across Chase's brow, not only because of the alarming statement, but the nonchalant way in which it was said as well. He leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees.

"He used to hurt your mum?" He asked with worry. "What about you and Meagan? Did he hurt you?"

"No, he never touched us," Jake assured, playing absently with the bent corner of his book cover. "He barely even looked at us." Chase examined the heartbroken expression that enveloped Jake's face as he talked about his father and the adjustments his family had to make once Collin left them with very little financial stability. The amount of maturity the boy conversed with seemed a pity to the intensivist; most boys his age would not even be able to grasp some of the concepts which Jake spoke so in-depth about. Most boys would still be living in the sheltered utopia many have come accustomed to growing up in, where there was no pain except for the occasional abrasion due to their adolescent mischief. But this boy had endured some emotional pain that had forced him to grow up before he was even able to have a complete childhood. Not only did he undergo emotional pain, but he had to witness it in his mother as well. The question as to why Angela remained with Collin if he was abusing her crossed the intensivist's mind until he discovered that Angela conceived Jake when she was not but eighteen; no college for her meant no substantial livelihood. She was just getting by with her minimum wage she made as a waitress at Café Spiletto.

"Have you seen your dad since the split up?" Chase asked once the conversation had brought up an opportune time.

"Once," Jake answered scratching lightly at his chest. "Mom had to go out of town to a funeral, and dad was the only one available to watch me and Meagan." He slipped the ticket stub into Chase's hand. "He took us to a baseball game."

"That sounds like fun," the Aussie commented as he skimmed over Jake's ticket stub.

Jake snorted, "Are you kidding? It sucked."

The blunt negativity brought out a slight smile from Chase's lips, "It couldn't have been that bad."

"Oh yeah? Dad spent the whole day pretending to be this loving father that he's not and never will be; he talked about nothing important, had the phoniest smile plastered on his face, and called me 'little guy'. Then he laughed when I got pooped on by some stupid pigeon." He looked incredulously to Chase when he heard a slight chuckle coming from the doctor. "It's not funny," he insisted.

"Jake," Chase smiled, "It happens to everyone some time in their life, and it's always hilarious."

"I bet you wouldn't think it's so _hilarious _if it was your head covered in bird poop," he chided bitterly, moving to itch his chest again.

"I've already been there," the sudden look of interest in the boy's eyes made Chase continue. "My dad took me sailing when I was eight, and still living in Australia. I was standing on the bow of the ship when a seagull swooped down and bombarded me; nailed me square in the face." Jake couldn't help but laugh at the imagery that short story presented. "See," Chase smiled, "It _is _funny, isn't it?"

"Well, it's only funny when it happens to someone else," Jake compromised with a laugh, however he stopped short as a swelling pain in his chest erupted in a round of harsh coughs.

"How long has that been going on?" Chased asked with confusion as he got up to pour Jake a glass of water. It was a new symptom as far as he was concerned, there had been no record of it previously taking place.

"It's been on and off for a while," he answered with a few stray coughs. "My chest still hurts too."

Chase handed over the glass of water, "Probably just a result from the coughing." He went to resume his seat when he noticed he still had Jake's ticket stub in his palm; he held it out to Jake to take as well. But when the boy grabbed it, he realized Chase wasn't letting go.

"What's wrong?" Jake asked as he looked up to the doctor; his eyes were focused intensely on the ticket as an epiphany had just struck him. His eyes flicked quickly from the ticket to the hallway, as if trying to see right through the shades.

House watched the twisted iron slowly rotate until it released his seventy-five cent Butterfingers from its grasp. It landed at the base of the vending machine with a dull thud; some sugar was all House needed to get a slight boost until he could go home. Just as he was reaching in to grab his prize, he felt someone stop directly behind him.

"Hmm, by the dainty-sounding footsteps, and subtle scent of Victoria Secret's So Sexy shampoo…" House pondered who could possibly be behind him before he decided to turn around. "Oh, I was right. Dr. Chase."

"I have a theory," Chase went on, "about Jake."

"Me too," House began to walk down the hallway. "He's too young for you, why don't you try the eighteen-year-old hemorrhoid patient on the third floor?"

Chase walked beside the older doctor, "I mean, about Jake's case."

"Oh, and here I thought we were going to discuss the arising complications in your budding romance," he used his teeth to rip open the candy wrapper as they continued to stride through the halls.

"I think it might be cryptococcosis," Chase blurted out; he looked with all seriousness to the diagnostician.

House stopped mid-stride to ponder that idea, "Induced by Filobasidiella Neoformans. It begins in the lungs then spreads to the brain."

"He started off with flu and pneumonia like symptoms, then came down with symptoms of meningitis and encephalitis," Chase said, expanding House's thought.

"It fits, but unless he's been eating imported apples, there would be no way for him to contract it," House landed his eyes on the Aussie expectantly.

"Not true," he countered with a side smile. "Jake was at a baseball game about a month ago, got crapped on by a pigeon."

House let his head drop backwards slightly as he thought about the possibility further. "The cryptococcosis fungi is abundant in pigeon droppings, soaks into the boy's skin, attacks his lungs, it's not treated in time, and complications develop."

"The meningitis and encephalitis," Chase nodded.

House looked to his duckling with approval, "Nice work; your infatuation has been of use after all. If your right then it explains the anemia along with the high white count and gamma-globulin count."

"Because cryptococcosis is more susceptible to those with an immunodeficiency, which causes blood abnormalities."

"Now we just need to find out what is killing his immune system," House began to walk again with Chase at his side.

He shoved his hands into his pockets casually, "There's no trace of HIV in his family, it's possib-"

"Cancer," House interrupted.

Chase's eyes widened, "Cancer? No, it could be a million other things."

"If the medical rational for ruling out cancer is 'our little Aussie doesn't want it to be', then I think we should investigate the possibility further."

"But it can't-"

"Cancer is the second leading cause next to HIV," House explained. "Since there's no HIV, then it must be cancer. Cryptococcosis presents with nodular lesions on the lungs," House reminded. "When we do a MRI to confirm your diagnosis, check for other masses that might be cancerous."

"And what is Chase's diagnosis?" A female voice broke in. Cameron walked up beside the two men, her face contorted in worry at the mention of cancer.

"Cryptococcosis," Chase answered dismally, looking through his file for a spare consent form.

"Like from bird…um, doo?" Cameron asked slightly disgusted; her colleague nodded.

"Cameron go get some amphotericin B," House instructed, "And Chase-"

The Aussie lifted the consent form from his file, "I'm on it." House watched as he two ducklings walked off to do their tasks.

"And I'm out of here," House muttered to himself as he took a bite into his Butterfingers, and headed towards the elevator; it looked like he'd be getting home sooner than expected.

Angela stood in her same spot outside of Jake's room, pulling her sweater tighter around herself. She was stationed just below one of the air vents that seemed to be consistently emitting cool air, but she would not move; not until Jake was discharged.

She smiled as the reflection off the wall of windows revealed the approaching intensivist. "Dr. Chase," she greeted, looking to him, "Jake is looking stronger already. I think the medicine is working."

Chase forced a small smile, "We're hoping he'll get even better when we start the next treatment."

"What for?" She asked with the slight fade of her smile. "Did you find something else?" Chase's face slowly fell solemn as he informed Angela of the baseball game and their theory of how he contracted the fungal condition. "Well, that's good, isn't it?" She asked, confused by his grave expression. "Now we just treat him, and he can come home."

"It's…not that simple," he said, letting out a slow, heavy breath.

She turned to face him more fully, "What do you mean?"

"Cryptococcosis is almost non-existent, except for those with a weak immune system," he grew rigid as he debated on whether or not to confess the strong possibility of cancer. "We're currently investigating possible immune disorders that could be causing these conditions."

"So he'll keep getting sick until his immune system is restored?" Angela asked, looking to him intently.

"Normally, but I'm going to go put his name in for a clean room, and we can move him into it tomorrow," Chase explained. "Once he's in there it's very unlikely that he will contract anymore infections of any kind."

Angela smiled, "And he'll be able to heal there while you find out what is messing up his immune system?" Cameron passed by the two to go administer Jake's medications; she looked to them confused by the smiles she was witnessing. It was not a usual trait people possessed while discovering their child could have cancer.

"Most patients who are admitted into a clean room, and put on antibiotics feel three times better within just a few days," Chase smiled more as well. His attention was drawn to the consent form he held in his hand. "Oh, but we are going to do an MRI to check for a confirmation that it is cryptococcosis, and we need your approval." He handed her a form, and clicked a pen open for her.

"Yes, of course," she took the pen from his grasp and skimmed over the paragraphs of text briefly before signing the bottom of the page. "And this will be tomorrow, too?" She asked, handing him the sheet back.

Chase slipped the paper into his file, "Most likely. I have to go schedule him for that as well."

"Oh, then I won't keep you any longer," she smiled. "Have a goodnight Dr. Chase."

"You too," he returned before heading off with a relieved sigh. The halls were almost empty as it was nearing nine o'clock, which made his walk to the nurse's station a stroll in the park; a very rare occurrence. On an average day, it was considered lucky to have to dodge three gurneys and a couple dozen uptight doctors. Even better, there were absolutely no lines at the nurses station for Chase to wait in. He walked right up to the counter and signed Jake up for a morning MRI before leaning over the counter to fill out the tedious application for Jake's clean room.

"You didn't do it, did you?"

Chase looked up with a start at the voice that had spoken without warning; his fallen locks of hair had acted as blinders for Cameron to sneak up on her unsuspecting co-worker. The immunologist stood with a satisfied grin on her face. "Do what?" he asked, going back to writing.

"You didn't tell Ms. Leider that Jake could have cancer," she clarified, crossing her arms over her torso as she leaned back against the counter.

"Well, no," Chase confessed, "but I just thought we could wait until we do the MRI, and if something shows up, _then _I'll tell her."

"That way she'll have a goodnight sleep, and some restored hope, right?" She asked with a bright smile, though Chase 's attention was too preoccupied to even notice it.

"Exact-," he stopped mid-word as a groan escaped his throat. Looking to the heaven's he grimaced, "Damn… I just pulled a Cameron, didn't I?"

"I personally think you need to do it more often," she commented as she read the form he was filling out from where she was standing. "Two C's at the end of coccosis."

"People deserve to know the truth," Chase replied as he corrected his spelling. "You can't fabricate everything to avoid tears."

Cameron looked to him defiantly, "Fine, in that case I'm sure she's still at Jake's room. Why don't you go give her the news?"

"She's… probably trying to catch some sleep on the waiting room sofa or something," Chase said, a bit flustered. "I wouldn't want to disturb her." He quickly handed the form to the nurse, and began to walk towards the diagnostic lounge. Cameron quickly caught up.

"Why couldn't you tell her?" She inquired curiously. "You usually have no problem telling people that their son is dying, much less that he might have cancer."

"I don't believe he has cancer," Chase responded as entered through the double doors, and into the lounge.

She stood by a chair watching as he gathered his things up, "House seems to."

"House isn't always right."

"You used to think so," she pointed out as she slipped her coat on; she eyed his attire oddly, "Going home in scrubs?"

"I don't feel like changing," he slung his bag over his chest and started to head out with Cameron. "Foreman leave already?"

"I think so; he has a date," she answered. "I think it's one of the family practitioners."

"Really?" Chase mused. "No wonder he's been enjoying clinic duty more lately; maybe getting a little action between patients?" He joked descending down the stairs.

Cameron smiled, "No one would ever know. They'd just think he was getting a consult."

"Is that what you do when you call for a consult?" Chase asked flippantly, glancing to her with a mischievous smile.

"I guess you'll never know," she replied lightheartedly as she pushed through the doors, and split from Chase at the front courtyard to head to the other side of the parking lot. It was still very full, though one would not have guessed as the halls were near empty. Most of the doctors were in their patient's room, making a final check up for the night or filling out paper work in their offices. Cameron climbed into her car, adjusting the radio station when a knock came at her window. She rolled it down when she saw it was Chase.

"Your car not start?" she asked as he stooped down to rest his folded arms on the opening of the window.

"No, nothing like that," he paused. "I was just wondering if you, uh… Cam, you want to go out for a drink or something tomorrow?"

She smirked lightly, "Or something? Like a 'consult'? We tried that already, remember?"

"Well, first of all, I thought we could actually _go out _for that drink," he smiled, "And secondly, I thought we could try going out with you un-intoxicated."

"First of all," she mocked frivolously, "that isn't even a word. And secondly, we already decided to avoid this."

"No, we said we'd avoid _sex_," he countered with the raising of his eyebrows. "Nothing was ever said about getting a drink or two." They exchanged looks for a few moments before Chase conceded defeat, "You're still saying 'no', aren't you?"

"Afraid so," she confirmed with a small smile, buckling her seatbelt. Chase nodded, returning her smile to show no offense was taken, and moved his arms off her car. "Goodnight, Chase," she rolled up her window, and backed out of her parking spot once Chase had stepped out of the way. A content sigh sounded as he watched her drive off; another tally to add to his invisible board. Accepts: one, though not completely legitimate. Rejects: well, this tally made seventeen.


	8. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

Cold sweat dripped from Jake's temples as he stared agonizingly at the dark midnight sky through the cracks in his window shades; mercy, all he wanted at that moment was mercy. In the midst of the night he had thought the hospital had turned the heat up a few too many notches, the sheets clung to his body as perspiration surged from his glands in an attempt to relieve him from the flames that had to have been generated from Hell itself. The searing warmth turned any strength he had accumulated that afternoon into useless ash, his body was weak, weaker than he had ever imagined one could feel. He closed his eyes tightly as he concentrated on breathing; a few inadequate staggered intakes of breath teased his longing desire for a deep inhalation, but it was an impossible task. Every attempt at a normal breath ended abruptly in a shallow and painful gasp that sent an explosion of anguish scattering about his lungs. Hacking coughs followed soon after, enflaming his already raw and arid throat that was sometimes momentarily relieved by the cool sensation he felt when sputum laced the lining of his esophagus. He swallowed to suppress the metallic taste from invading any further into his mouth, but the constricting pressure on the sides of his neck made even that, such a simple task, difficult.

The moon rose, and fell to be replaced by the refreshed sun that no longer seemed to be a burden to Jake's senses; he peered out from beneath the droopy eyelids that marred his view to watch his favorite doctor as he opened the blinds for the first time in over a week. Sweet sleep had never laid its gentle touch on Jake to relieve him from his misery, leaving him dangling on the edge of unconsciousness due to sheer exhaustion. But hope was now in sight; it came to him in the form of a blonde intensivist. Though he could not communicate with the doctor, just the security Jake felt knowing that he was there to care for him was enough to give him a certain sense of peace. Soon, he realized that Dr. Chase was not the only doctor in the room, but another man who wielded a cane also stood at his bedside.

The bed shifted as he felt the intensivist situate himself beside him on the bed; too weak to move on his own, Chase's arms had to lift Jake's torso off the mattress to position him in an upright posture. Feeling his consciousness dancing in and out of his head, Jake allowed his muscles to go limp and let Chase stabilize him. The bearded doctor placed a cool piece of metal against Jake's back, and ordered for the boy to take several breaths, but only short gasps could be given before Jake would let out a small whimper. Chase slowly lowered him back down onto his pillow once House had heard enough to verify their thoughts on his sudden onset of symptoms.

"Pneumonia," House nodded to the cart they had pulled in with them. "Start the vancomycin." With that he headed out of the room, only to be stopped by an anxious Angela.

"What's wrong with him?" She asked with a fidgety manner.

"He's got pneumonia," House answered, glancing through the windows to Jake. "The onset can be sudden; especially in the immunocompromised."

"But he's going to be alright?"

"Because of his weak immune system, it occurred with a complication called pleural effusion," he glanced at her unchanged expression. "He's drowning." She looked from House to Jake utterly speechless with alarm. "His left lung is completely filled with liquid, and the right one is starting to fill up as well," he leaned on his cane. "Dr. Chase is treating him for the pneumonia, and then the liquid will be extracted from his lungs via needle so he can breath."

"But won't breaking his skin to insert the needle make him more vulnerable? Can't we move him to the clean room now so he won't get anymore infections?" Angela asked turning her attention to the surprised diagnostician; no patient ever thought about those trivial possibilities.

"Sure," House replied a bit too cheery, but then pretended to think. "Of course he could _die _if we wait to drain his lungs, but its your call."

Angela's expression turned sour at his sarcasm, "I'm just watching out for the care of my son."

"Well it's a good thing _you _are," House said with mock concern as he leaned into her. "I'll tell you a secret. Us doctors… we're actually a ploy setup by the government and have absolutely _no _idea what we are doing. Take Dr. Chase for instance, he's in there giving the boy a banana bag full of vodka." He furrowed his brow, "That clears up pneumonia, doesn't it?" The hurt expression that befell her fair features, made House let out a small sigh as he dropped his mockery. "Do you trust us to do our jobs?" Angela considered his question as she played with the necklace that laid about her neck; she looked into the room where Chase was already working on clearing Jake's lungs. House followed her line of sight before rephrasing his question, "Do you trust Dr. _Chase _to do what's best for your son?"

She nodded before adding softly, "Yes." That answer was good enough for House; he started back to the diagnostic lounge where he could recuperate, too much doctor-patient contact could be toxic.

"You went with Chase so you could help him diagnose _pneumonia_?" Foreman asked House as he entered the room. "I'm pretty sure he could have done that on his own," the neurologist pointed out from his position at the table.

"A monkey could have done that," Cameron exaggerated. "So why'd you go?"

"His interest interested me," House replied, picking up a rubrics cube.

"And?" Foreman inquired. "Did you find out what is so fascinating?"

"My guess would be the mom."

Cameron turned from the counter, "You think she's good-looking?"

House looked up from the cube, "Oh, yeah. She'd be enough to peak anyone's curiosity, among other things."

Foreman raised an eyebrow skeptically, "So you think Chase has been so interested in this patient to get to his mom? To fill his lechery?"

"I would," House responded simply.

"Chase isn't you," Foreman countered.

"No," House agreed. "But he is a man… of sorts." Foreman opened his mouth to respond, but then he found that House did have a point.

"If you two are done," Cameron interjected, "I thought maybe we should postpone Jake's MRI."

"The kid's almost unconscious, he's in too cooperative of a state not to take advantage of it," House said, taking a seat at the corner desk with his rubrics cube. "The less he moves, the more accurate the images will be."

"It can be a scary experience," she said worriedly. "We don't want him wasting any energy on anxiety."

"Just have daddy Chase hold his hand, he'll be fine," the diagnostician studied the different sides of the cube, debating his next move.

"Don't worry about it," Foreman said to Cameron. "He'll be fine."

"I still think it could wait."

The sound of the door being pushed open made House turn his attention to the entering intensivist, "Daddy's home."

A confused expression passed over Chase's face before he moved on, "Pneumonia isn't the only thing Jake's contracted. He has eczema as well; I noticed the rashes when I was draining his lungs and some are starting to scale over already."

"Eczema coming on that quick?" Cameron furrowed her brow. "Maybe it's not eczema, maybe it's cellulitis."

"No, he was itching the other day," Chase started.

"But you just thought nothing of it," House stated, giving Chase an analytical look.

The intensivist pushed his coat aside to plant his hands on his hips, "He wasn't complaining about it, so I had no reason to be alarmed."

"We should start him on erythromycin," Foreman offered as he began to stand from his seat.

"I already informed the nurses," Chase stopped him, "They're taking care of it."

"The meningitis and encephalitis were connected to the cryptococosis, so what is the cryptococcosis, pneumonia, and eczema connected to?" House chewed over aloud as he wrote the conditions in a pyramid-like formation, leaving a large question mark at the top.

"What about Severe Combined Immunodeficiency?" Chase asked, leaning against the table. He tapped his pen absently against his lip in a thinking manner. "It explains the various infections, and the blood disorders."

"It's possible, but not likely," Foreman said, deep in thought, "With SCID the infections are usually reoccurring, and includes _chronic _skin infections. Jake's eczema came on too suddenly to be chronic."

"Lung cancer," Cameron spoke up. "Not only does it weaken the immune system, but it explains the pneumonia, and everything else."

"No," Chase immediately argued, "Lung cancer wouldn't weaken the immune system _that _much."

Cameron folded her arms, "He's young, it would effect him just enough to make him susceptible to fungal infections. Then the pneumonia and the skin infection are _symptoms _of the cancer."

"Have you read the history?" Chase asked with irritation. "There is no sign of lung cancer anywhere in his family."

"There's other ways to get lung cancer besides genetics," Cameron pointed out.

Chase shook his head, "No, it's got to be something else."

"Hmm," House thought. "We're talking about the immune system, so should we listen to the immunologist or the horny wombat?"

"_What_?" Chase blurted out in complete shock by House's words.

"Oh, don't play dumb," he teased. "I know your tricks, I've seen the kid's mom…you filthy boy."

Chase laughed when he realized what House was insinuating, "You think Angela and I-"

"Nothing to be embarrassed about," he assured when he saw Chase's cheeks flush. "She's quite the woman."

"It's not even like that."

"It's okay," House winked, "Your secret's safe with me."

"But I'm _not_-"

House checked his watch, "You should probably get the boy to the scanning room, then pop him in for a quick chest X-ray if you don't see any traces of cancer on the MRI." With that, the ducklings all gathered up their files and proceeded out of the lounge.

"Try not to move, alright, Jake?" Chase finished strapping Jake onto the table; no response was heard. "Jake?"

"Uh-huh," the boy agreed wearily.

"If you become uncomfortable just let us know, we can get you out of there if needed," he slid Jake into the tunnel, beneath the magnet, before joining his colleagues in the monitor room. He stood behind Cameron with his arms folded casually over his chest. "Fifty bucks says no cancer," He grinned challengingly at Cameron.

She raised her eyebrows in surprise, "You're on."

Foreman leaned forward in one of the chairs to speak to Jake through the microphone, "We're going to begin now, hold still." He turned off the speaker, and lounged back in the chair as he looked to the screen. Beside him, Cameron sat in the other chair, waiting for pictures to start showing up. Foreman glanced briefly back at Chase before keeping his eyes focused on the screen. "You seriously have no interest in Jake's mom?" He asked after a few moments of silence.

"Don't tell me House's ideas have actually made you curious," Chase said with amusement.

Cameron looked back at him, "How could we not have suspicions? You spend almost your entire work day in or near Jake's room, plus overtime."

"So you automatically assume it's because of an infatuation that my attention is focused on them?" Chase asked.

Cameron smirked, "Well yeah, unless you would like to give us another explanation."

"Guys," Foreman tried to get their attention as he looked onward to the information appearing.

"What's to explain? He's in critical condition," Chase replied with a small shrug.

"Yeah, and he just happens to have a hot mom," she smiled.

He looked to her expectantly, "Would you rather I neglect his medical needs?"

"No-"

"Guys," Foreman said more sternly; once he got their attention he nodded to the monitors. Their first priority was to detect any lesions, but some things were unavoidably more predominant. "Cameron just got fifty bucks richer," Foreman stated as they all watched in stunned silence as the images revealed more than they had expected; Chase's arms slowly dropped to his sides.

"That can't be right," he thought aloud as he leaned in towards the monitor to get a better look. The lesions confirming cryptococcosis appeared as small white dots scattered throughout the right lung around a dark mass, but their attention was drawn more fully to the left lung where two more masses appeared.

"Oh my-" Cameron's eyes widened at the sight.

"Three tumors?" Chase was unable to believe his own eyes.

"Wait, what's that?" Foreman moved from his seat to point to Cameron's screen at a small shadowed area, not in the lungs but near the shoulder.

She narrowed her eyes in concentration, "A fourth tumor?" She looked from the neurologist to up at Chase.

"No way," Chase disputed. "There is no way he can have _four _tumors, it's impossible." He strained to look even closer, only to be completely blown away when he realized Cameron was right.

Foreman looked more closely to the fourth tumor's location, "It's right over the deltoideopectoral gland."

"It's on a lymph node?" Chase furrowed his brow in confusion. "It can't be Hodgkin's, he's too young."

"It explains everything though," Foreman highlighted. "The weak immune system, the blood abnormalities, the infections-"

"And the lung tumors?" Chase inquired. "What? He just happens to, not only have one form of cancer, but two?"

"It's possible they're benign," Cameron suggested.

Foreman let out a breath, "There is no use in us trying to analyze it at this point. We need to get him to Wilson."

Author's Note: Pneumonia sequence based on actual experience.


	9. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

There was nothing more they could do except wait. Wilson had performed four successful endoscopic biopsies, removing small amounts of tissue from each of Jake's tumors to be examined. Now it all rested in the hands of the pathologists, who said they would notify Wilson within forty-eight hours to inform him of the outcome. Two days; it was an agonizingly long time to dangle on the thin string of suspense. At any moment Angela knew she could receive the horrific news that her son may not even live to see his eighteenth birthday; a knot formed in her stomach at the sound of every passing doctor as she knew one would eventually stop next to her with Jake's results.

House, on the other hand, was working on other unanswered questions. He approached the nurses station in the clinic where a boyish oncologist stood filling out a recent patient's evaluation. House leaned on the counter, reading through a random file from the pile next to his friend.

Wilson glanced at the folder in House's hand, "So you neglect your clinic duties when you're actually _scheduled_, but when the clinic is fully staffed, then you decide to show up?"

House kept his eyes on the file, "Oh, I'm not actually reading it. I just thought it'd look better if I appeared to be busy. Less chance of Dr. Funbags interfering."

"Right", he sighed as he handed the form over to the nurse. He knew the diagnostician wanted something. "I can only begin to guess what this is about, but judging by your current case and it's primary doctor, I'm going to take a stab and say this is about Chase."

House tossed the file back onto the stack, "He hasn't left the kid's room since he was admitted."

"Yes, I see your point. He is an intensivist, so clearly he has no business spending all of his time with an _intensive care _patient," Wilson began heading for the elevator. "You know, only you could be caught up in one of your doctors' affairs while we are waiting for a prognosis."

House followed shortly behind him, "The prognosis is second on my list. First, talk to Wilson. Second, bite my nails pointlessly and dwell anxiously on the pending possibility that it's cancer."

"Point taken," Wilson forfeited as he stopped at the base of the staircase and turned to House. "But it wouldn't kill you to have some concern over a patient every once and a while."

"Concern is a waste of time," House leaned more comfortably on his cane. "It either causes irrational hope or narcissistic doom."

Wilson raised his eyebrows in momentary surprise at the statement, "Well, that's certainly one way to look at it."

House drew Wilson back to their original topic, "The only reason Chase is obsessed with the kid-"

"Jake," he corrected.  
"With Jake is because he wants to know his pain is justified," House explained.

Wilson pondered that statement, "Whose pain? Jake's or Chase's?"

"Chase's."

"I wasn't aware that Chase was in any pain," the oncologist commented.

House scoffed shortly, "And you say _I'm _the insensitive one."

"You are," Wilson confirmed.

"Obviously you don't know the story, or else you wouldn't be acting so thick," House leveled with his friend. He rolled his eyes, not wanting to go through all of this. "Once upon a time there was a little lad by the name of Robbie," he began in an attempt to clarify himself. Wilson sighed exasperatedly once he realized where this was going, but House continued. "Now this lad lived a life of luxury until one day his deadbeat dad left, and he was stuck cleaning up his mom's spew, who spent her days smashed on whiskey and vodka. Finally, she realized life wasn't worth it, knocked back one too many, and kicked off. Young Robbie was left to fester in the resentment he felt towards his dad, but unfortunately he never got to square things with said father before he died from lung cancer… Sounds painful to me."

"Actually, I have heard that story before," Wilson corrected. "Though not quite in those words."

"It just so happens that Jake is currently dealing with separation, alcoholism, and possibly lung cancer," House pointed out.

Wilson planted his hands on his hips skeptically, "So your rational for Chase's friendship with Jake is that he wants to know that Jake is miserable too?"

"He wants to know that he has the right to be in pain by observing someone else with a similar life also hurting," House nodded.

"He's not looking for justification," A soft female voice broke into the conversation. The two male doctors looked up to the top of the first tier of stairs where Cameron stood; her face was somber, almost distant. It was the first time she had ever heard Chase's life story. The two colleagues talked a lot with one another as they often had dead time to waste in the lounge or while waiting for a pathology test to come back in the lab, but one topic he always avoided talking about was his past; now she knew why. She now knew why he had been emitting so much hate for his dad, and been sensitive when talk of alcoholism was brought up. And now she knew what had come over him at Collin's house. She walked down the stairs to stand by the men, "He wants to share his empathy."

"Empathy is a false idea," House countered. "It's just chocolate-coated pity."

She looked to him almost sadly, "It's defined as being able to relate to and understand one another. They're obviously capable of doing that or they wouldn't be spending so much time together."

"He's trying to be the father neither of them got to have," House said. "He feels guilty for their parents mistakes, and, unfortunately, he's getting emotionally involved in the process."

"That's not always a bad thing," Wilson replied.

"It is if you rule out illnesses and cancer just because it reminds you of daddy," House contradicted.

"You have the final say, House," Cameron said thoughtfully. "Jake is young, and hospitalization can be scary. Chase's friendship with him is keeping him comforted, so if Chase's emotions get in the way, overrule him." She let out a small breath. "We're a team, we might as well start acting like one."

"How profound," House studied her face analytically. "Why are you here? Eavesdropping on Cuddy not entertaining enough?"

"No, Jake's biopsy results are in," she answered, handing over a large envelope to Wilson.

"It's still sealed," House observed, looking to Cameron pointedly.

Cameron nodded, "It wasn't addressed to me."

"And Chase didn't try to peak?" House asked as he watched Wilson peel up the envelope's adhesive closing.

"He doesn't know the delivery came," She answered, her eyes focused on Wilson as well. He pulled out the charts, reading them over carefully.

Inside the diagnostic lounge, there was not the normal silence the team had come so accustom to hearing, but the sweet sound of music. Chase leaned back in his chair with his feet propped up on the conference table; he strummed the guitar easily. He would rather have been playing in Jake's room, but regulations would not make any exceptions as to what would be allowed inside the clean room.

"No Van Halen today?" Foreman asked as he took a seat across from him with his magazine.

Chase looked up with a small smile, "I'm giving my fingers a break."

"Man, I never thought you'd be able to do something like that," Foreman confessed with a chuckle.

"Let me guess," Chase smiled wider. "You figured I be too busy with polo or croquet?"

"No, I just figured you weren't cool enough," he joked, sharing a laugh with his co-worker.

"Gee, thanks," the smile on Chase's face quickly vanished at the sound of the opening doors; House entered with Cameron and Wilson trailing behind him. "Are the results in?" He pulled his legs off the table to sit upright, and set the guitar down to lean against the chair next to him.

"It's back to the drawing board," House said, grabbing an eraser and clearing the white board. He began writing down Jake's symptoms. "Bacterial infections, fungal infections, anemia, low white-count, high gamma-globulins, and now, benign tumors." He turned to looked at a rather awe-struck Aussie as Cameron threw fifty dollars down in front of him.

"None of the tumors were cancerous?" Chase asked, moving to fix his eyes on House unbelievingly.

"That's generally what 'benign' means, yes." After a moment of seriousness, even House couldn't help but smile at the good news. He faced the board once more so his sign of contentment would not remain out for all to see. Chase looked down at Jake's folder, marking down benign tumors with a small laugh of relief.

"It had to be cancer," Foreman thought, puzzled. "It all fit, it causes increased infections and blood disorders."

"Maybe it's still an immune deficiency we haven't discussed," Cameron suggested. "What about Chronic Granulomatous Disease? It reduces the phagocyte's ability to fend off fungal and bacterial infections, and usually presents with non-cancerous tumors on the lungs."

Wilson shook his head as he folded his arms casually over his chest, "The tumors were too big to be granulomas."

"Something is swaying the balance of cell division and death, causing his body to form these tumors," he glanced around the room at the doctors. "It's not cancer, so any other ideas?"

"He is in the healthy weight range and has a pallid complexion, so we can rule out obesity and too much sun exposure," Chase commented.

Cameron looked over Jake's file, "He is involved in his school's hockey team, track team, and plays in his band, so we can rule out having a sedentary lifestyle."

Foreman let out a breath, "Well, two possibilities are tobacco use or alcohol intake."

"_Excessive _use of alcohol or tobacco," Chase corrected. "There is a difference."

"His dad's an alcoholic," Foreman reminded him. "That means that he has a higher chance of also developing alcoholism."

"If he was an alcoholic we would have seen withdrawal symptoms by now," House countered. "Come on, you're all missing the biggies."

Cameron racked her brain before coming to a conclusion, "Chemical poisons, toxins, and radiation."

House nodded, "Exactly. Some toxins attack the body's bone marrow, killing it's ability to produce blood cells while at the same time disturbing mitosis."

Foreman laughed ironically, "That's brilliant, and maybe if we had done a tox screen when he first came in we would know exactly what was in his system instead of letting it turn untraceable." He shifted his gaze to Chase accusingly.

Chase's face turned protective, "Only drugs were being suggested at the time-"

"We always test for toxins whether we believe the patient is lying or telling the truth," Foreman interrupted. "And this is why. Now there is no way of telling what toxin could be doing this."

"I didn't see you go out of your way to fight for a tox screen when it was brought up, so obviously it's not that crucial in your opinion," Cameron argued monotonously. Chase glanced at her, surprised by the comment said in his defense.

"She's got a point," House shook his head at Foreman. "And I thought you were the good doctor."

"We all made a mistake by not doing it," the neurologist said in his favor, ignoring House's frivolous comment. "We could all be held liable for any damage done to Jake now because we didn't take all precautions we could have." The Aussie looked to House, waiting for him to make a sarcastic remark about the legal incident Chase endured just a few months ago. House returned his look briefly before turning his attention to the others.

"Which is why I am going to send all of you to search the boy's house to find this toxin as soon as possible," House replied simply, and without mockery. "When you find what we're looking for, test the mom and sister to see if they have any of the same symptoms from exposure."

"There's a million different chemicals we could be looking for," Cameron commented apprehensively.

House thought for a moment, "Foreman you check electrical devices for radiation; Cameron you got food and water for chemical toxins; Chase you take a look at any gas or vapor emissions. Cover your zones and we're bound to find something."

The ducklings all moved from their positions without another word to change out of their lab coats and into the street jackets. House still stood in front of the white board silently as Cameron and Foreman walked past him on the way out. Just as Chase was passing, House hit him in the chest with his cane to stop him from continuing on.

"Check the heating system. When you find it, call me, and tell me what it smells like," House instructed.

Chase furrowed his brow as he was sure House had turned over to complete lunacy, "Alright…" House lowered his cane back down to the floor, and leaned on it as he watched the blonde doctor catch up to the other two ducklings.

"What it smells like?" Wilson repeated with a grin; House only had bizarre requests like that during specific circumstances. "You can't possibly know what it is already."

House reached into his pocket, pulling out a bill, "Would you like to put Benjamin Franklin's life on it?"

"Knowing you?" Wilson thought for a moment. "No."


	10. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

The three ducklings made their way to the Leider's address where a quaint single-story house waited to be searched; though an obviously older designed home, it was in decent shape.

Chase pulled the front door's key from his pocket with a shrug, "He seems normal to me."

"As normal as House can get," Cameron smiled as she watched the door being unlocked. She followed the Aussie inside with Foreman trailing behind to shut the door.

"You guys don't find it weird that he hasn't done anything… ethically-compromising?" Foreman asked as he dug through his bag for the radiation detector.

Chase scanned the interior of the house, finding it in nice condition, "He hasn't had a reason to."

"That or his mind has been preoccupied," the neurologist hit the power button, which immediately emitted a crackling sound from the transmitter. "He's gone along with everything in a cautious, none-invasive manner. That's _not _the House I know."

Cameron went into the kitchen to start her task, "What would be preoccupying his mind?"

"He doesn't exactly _have _much to consume his mind," Chase pulled out his biosensor to turn it on. "His Vicodin seems to be doing its job, Stacy's out of the picture, and he's bumped Foreman back out of command." His brow furrowed as he attempted to program the complicated device. "No offense, but it doesn't seem like he has anything else to think about."

"I didn't mean it like that," she defended sympathetically as she turned the tap water on. "Just because he doesn't talk about his personal life with us doesn't mean he lacks one."

"True," Foreman said as he began monitoring various devices in the living room. He let out a small chuckle, "Yet extremely hard to believe."

"Why?" Cameron asked with a bit of a curt tone. She opened the fridge, "There's more to House than just diagnostics and a disability."

Chase stood in the living room's doorway with the utmost concentration on trying to figure out the biosensor. "Yeah, there's also plenty of sarcasm and hookers," he muttered dryly as he pressed various random buttons.

Foreman laughed, "And don't forget the drug addiction."

"Come on, you guys," Cameron scolded lightly from her stooped position in the fridge; she never liked this kind of talk.

"We're just kidding, Cam. Relax," Chase assured her.

"Well, maybe _you _are," Foreman joked. He barely got to finish his sentence when Chase's cell phone began to ring.

Flipping it open, Chase put it to his ear, "This is Chase."

"Did you find anything yet?" House's voice asked.

"Haven't even started," he confessed as he started walking down the main hall. "I can't get this damn detector to work right."

"Forget it," House sat down at his desk. "Where's John's room?"

"It's Jake," the Aussie stuffed the biosensor back into his bag while peering in and out of the rooms. The last one he came to was full of 'My Little Pony' memorabilia, "And I can't even find a boy's room, let alone Jake's."

"Does the house have a basement?"

"Yeah, but I figured it was probably unfinished, the stairs are at least," Chase went back to the door that led to the basement.

House tossed his over-sized tennis ball into the air, "Check anyway."

At the base of the stairs, Chase found himself in a room whose walls were covered in Van Halen and Hendrix posters. He shook his head at House's uncanny ability. "You were right, Jake's room is definitely down here." A tall tower of CDs immediately caught the practiced-guitarist's eyes; he read over the titles absently. "What is it I'm looking for in here exactly?"

"Nothing, but now we know his room's in the basement," House thought for a moment. "Is there a storage room down there?"

"A storage room?" Chase repeated as he glanced around, there was one door in the basement. He walked over to it, and pushed it open with a bit of necessary force; the sound of humming machinery filled the acoustically challenged cement room. "Storage room," he confirmed as he attempted to flick the light switch on, but nothing resulted. Much to his luck, the small basement windows let in just enough light to reveal the silhouettes of the contents in the room. "You think the problem's in here?"

"I take it the furnace is in there," House assumed, evading Chase's question. "Take a nice big whiff and tell me what you think."

Chase shrugged though he knew House couldn't see him, "It just smells like honey or something sweet. If there's a distinct smell I'm suppose to notice the air freshener's throwing me off."

House smiled to himself, "You actually see the air freshener?"

"Well, no, but-"

"How many people do you know that worry about the odor of their storeroom?" House asked skeptically.

The Aussie rubbed his forehead at the potent fumes, "Some…people are anal like that."

"A single, working mother of two does not have the obsessive-compulsive desire to make sure her storage room is fragrant," House argued. "Does the rest of the place smell like that?"

"If it does it's not as strong as down here because I didn't notice," Chase confessed. He reflected over House's words, "You mentioned the furnace earlier, you think that's what's poisoning Jake? It's emitting a toxin?"

"It's a hunch I have," House replied. "Make sure you get the furnace's model, maker, and service record. We need to see if they've had any problems with it in the past."

Chase pulled out a small notepad as he scanned the large heater for the information stickers, which were at the base of the front panel. He knelt down on one knee to get closer, only to immediately regret his actions, "Damn." He lifted his knee back up to see his pant leg was now soaked clear through.

"Did you find it?" House asked, needing Chase to pick up his pace.

"Hold on," the intensivist knelt back down to read the label and write it down in the notepad. "It's an Auxilaire 224, made by Beta."

House leaned back in his office chair, "And the service record?"

Chase squinted against his increasing headache at an attempt to read the faded pen on the chart, "I can't make it out."

House took a moment to weigh his options, "Get the others and come back to the hospital."

Chase stood up, putting the notepad back into his pocket, "But I haven't even gotten any samples yet."

"I'm sure the others have collected enough useless samples as it is. Get back here now," he instructed before hanging up abruptly. The sudden urgency in House's voice compelled Chase to do as he was told.

House stood at the counter in the diagnostic lounge, pulling on a pair of latex gloves when he heard the door swinging open. Foreman lead the group of returning ducklings into the room with a defining strut of confidence that House knew always brought up interesting news. The neurologist set down a small vial of liquid onto the table top, but the three doctors stopped for a moment to throw a few curious glances House's way.

"What is _that_?" House asked, looking to it with a cock of his eyebrow.

Foreman laughed, "What do you think? It's what's killing Jake."

"We found a can of the pesticide chlordane in the garage," Cameron explained. "It was extremely common before the year 1988, when it was banned because of the health risks it caused."

"Thanks for the history lesson," House furrowed his brow. "The kid's mom still kept some even though it's illegal? She's naughtier than I thought."

"We think she may not have known about it's ban," Foreman replied. "The bottle was old, probably came with the house when they bought it."

"It's been known to cause leukopenia, which reduces the white count, which causes infections," she looked to House hopefully. "It explains everything."

House nodded, but then stopped suddenly to look at her, "I didn't tell you to look for pesticides."

"No," Foreman directed House's attention to him, "but when no significant radiation was showing up, I thought I'd make better use of my time. And apparently it's a good thing I did, or else you would have completely bypassed it."

"House, it explains everything," Cameron repeated.

"Yes, it does," the diagnostician paused for a moment before flinging a defiant finger in the air, "but just for fun, let's say your wrong."

"_What_?" Foreman gave him a flabbergasted glare. "House, you sent us to their place to find the toxin, we found it, and now you are rejecting our idea? It all fits; there's no more mystery; puzzle solved."

"Nope. The pesticide may be a piece to _a _puzzle, but not _our _puzzle," He argued.

Cameron sighed, "It explains _everything_."

"Sirens," House said out of the blue as he ignored his allergist and neurologist.

Foreman shook his head in frustrated confusion, "What?"

"Or Seirenes, as the Greek would call them," House looked to the white board full of symptoms to focus his train of thought on.

"Why are we talking about mythology?" Chase finally spoke up as he rubbed his throbbing temple.

"Sirens would sing melodies that would cloud the minds of sailors," House began. "The longer the crews listened to the voices, the closer they came to their downfall. The singing was so pure and irresistible, they had no idea that they were being fooled, and so continued on without hesitation. The sweet songs would disguise the fact that the crew was being lured into rocks and cliffs, ultimately causing their boats to crash. Every member aboard the ship would have a slow death by drowning or becoming seafood."

Foreman let out a breath in annoyance, "I don't know what you're getting at, but-"

"What if," House interrupted, giving a warning glance to his neurologist, "the toxin that is killing him is like the Sirens? It was never suspected to be harmful because of it's appeal, until it was too late."

"I assume you have a toxin in mind," Cameron said.

House glanced between his three ducklings, "Benzene."

"That _is _a common mutagen," the immunologist nodded, "but how would Jake have been exposed? He doesn't live near an industrial plant, or a gas station, or anything."

"Crude oil contains lots of benzene," House explained. "Oil-burning furnaces, like the ones Beta makes, are a common way for families that are scraping for money to save financially on electrical bills. The benzene in the oil evaporates at the high temperatures and infiltrates the lungs, killing off bone marrow, increasing risk for infections-specifically lung infections, and speeds up cell division. The result after several years? Benign tumors."

Foreman folded his arms over his chest, "But how-"

"Here's where it gets interesting," House went on. "Benzene is heavier than air, and will remain at the lowest place possible, the basement."

"Where Jake's room is," Chase added briefly.

"And here's the kicker," House grabbed an empty syringe off the kitchenette counter. "This particular toxin smells sweet, so sweet no one would suspect the possibility that it can beat your bone marrow's hiney in a fight."

"It's a great theory," Foreman conceded, glancing uneasily at the needle in his boss's hand. "It fits perfectly, but then again, so does the pesticide."

House grinned with a nod, "It's benzene."

"There is no treatment for benzene poisoning," Cameron pointed out. "We could only treat the symptoms, including a bone marrow transplant, but if your wrong-and Jake has something else- that will destroy his new bone marrow as well. We need proof, House."

"We would have had proof if you had let me grab a sample of the furnace oil," Chase mentioned condemningly.

"The oil is substandard if you ask me," He replied, making his way over to Chase. "We have something much better, and more concise." Foreman's eyes widened when realization hit; he lunged at House, but was only just too late. A gasp came from Cameron as House swiftly pierced the needle through the Aussie's clothes and into his flesh, bringing about a startled exclamation from Chase.

"Are you mad?" The intensivist watched in utter shock as House attached an empty cartridge to the syringe.

"Chronic benzene poisoning results in symptoms that are identical to Jake's," House started to enlighten the others calmly as he slowly extracted some blood. "Acute benzene poisoning can take place after just several minutes of intense exposure; causing dizziness, drowsiness…" he paused to look at Chase, "and headaches."

An infuriated stare covered the Aussie's features, "You set me up."

"Not intentionally," House replied. He twisted the cartridge off, and withdrew the needle gently from Chase's arm. "Though it was convenient, wasn't it?" He tossed the blood sample to Cameron, "Get a tox screen on this. When my diagnosis is confirmed, set up a bone marrow transplant for our little rock star."

"You were willing to put _my _life on the line just to confirm one of your damn theories?" Chase asked furiously.

"Don't get your panties in a wad," House limped over to the biohazard bin, and tossed the syringe in. "I knew how long you could remain exposed without significant damage, you'll be fine given a few hours of fresh air."

"Regardless, you knew I was walking into a toxic area," the fuming Aussie began approaching his boss. "And yet you still-"

"Whoa there," House stopped Chase from coming any closer with the butt of his cane. "No use contaminating me too."

"Inhaled toxins aren't contagious, you know that," Chase grabbed the end of House's cane, and moved it off his chest.

"I'm not worried about your breath." The diagnostician nodded to the large dark spot still on Chase's khakis. "Either you piddled yourself, or that's benzene."

"Oh my-" Cameron looked to her colleague's pant leg, "We have to call the state health department." She quickly made her way over to the phone.

"You have stepped completely out of line, even for you." Foreman shook his head with aggravation, "We need to be getting Jake on a transplant list, setting him up on a routine of medications to ease his symptoms, and getting him started on radiation treatments, but we can't because we have to waste valuable time cleaning up _your _mistakes."

"It will take less than an hour," House was beginning to grow irritable towards his team. "Cut him out of his clothes, seal them in a bag, and the health department will pick them up. Unless you're _unbelievably _inept-"

"We wouldn't have to be doing this at all if you weren't such a self-absorbed ass," Foreman interrupted. When he saw he was not going to receive any reply from House, he promptly left the diagnostic lounge. "Let's go, Chase."

House watched them leave in silence before turning his attention to the petite doctor who stood by the phone. "Did you get a hold of them?"

"They're on their way," she answered.

"Then why are you still here? You have things to do," House glanced at the vial of blood before he began to head to his office.

"Chase could take legal action, House," Cameron reproached with an intensely quiet tone.

"'Could' being the imperative word here." He stopped to pop a Vicodin into his mouth before turning to her. "I think I'm in the clear."

Cameron inclined her head at him, "You think he won't?"

"I know he won't."

She flung her arm towards the door where the two doctors exited, "He has every right, you just-"

"I never said he didn't have the _right_," House shifted his weight with annoyance. "Chase is a people-pleaser, he hates confrontation, and he hates to tick people off. Sure he can't help himself sometimes, and he gets into meaningless spats with the team, but overall if he can avoid conflict, he will."

"He _should _sue you," Cameron folded her arms angrily. "Foreman was right, you have gone way too far."

"Oh, lord," House groaned, dropping his head back. "Here comes the lecture."

"There are other ways we could have confirmed the diagnosis," she began passionately. "Test the oil, test the vapors, test the family members, or just through yourself in there and test your damn self. But don't put other people's lives at risk when it isn't necessary." She planted her hands firmly on her hips. "Chase works so hard to do a good job, and-yeah-he screws up sometimes, but it doesn't help when you are constantly criticizing his every move. His dad obviously didn't appreciate him; he left. His mom obviously didn't either; she killed herself. And now _you _show him that his efforts mean nothing by endangering-"

A small smile formed on House's lips, "You pity him."

"What? No," Cameron shifted her weight, a bit flustered by his accusation.

"You feel bad for him," House nodded. "He never had a mommy or daddy who would pat him on the back and tell him 'good job' or do cheers on the sidelines of his life. Now your just mad because I'm not indulging his need for compliments."

"Statistics prove that some healthy encouragement can boost someone's overall performance," Cameron replied. "I don't tell him he's done good when he hasn't, but you don't even acknowledge it when he _has_. You don't acknowledge _any _of us when we do well."

House began to limp into his office, "Tough love."

So much for House's lack of ethic compromises. Chase pulled the last of his scrub uniform over his head once he had made sure to wash his skin off thoroughly; his headache was beginning to ease, but the rash on his shin was as apparent as ever. On the other hand, it was not his right to complain. He would take a skin irritation over immune system death any day, just as he was positive Jake would feel the same. Jake and his family were probably anxiously awaiting the biopsy results, and Chase hoped that he would be given the opportunity to tell the Leider's the good news: no cancer. Just as long as Foreman or Cameron hadn't already done so. He tied his laces before getting up to head out of the locker rooms, but upon opening the door, he nearly ran into a familiar face.

"Cameron, what are you doing?"

"I just wanted to make sure you are doing alright," she glanced to the floor before looking up at him again. "And I wanted to see if that offer for a drink was still good."


	11. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10**

Walking down the desolate city sidewalks, Chase stuffed his bare hands into his coat pockets in an attempt to save them from the stinging night air; November had made a valiant effort to fend off the bitter winter, but it was slowly losing to the inevitable. The puffs of white breath that escaped Chase's chattering lips dissipated into the darkness before him, only making him that much more aware of just how cold it had become. Though this would not be the first winter he experienced, it was always a harsh adjustment for his antipodean body to bear.

Just down the street, he could spot the small café he had been looking for. It glowed with the ambiance of warmth and comfort; something this tired doctor was desperately desiring. The closer he got the more he could smell the aroma of the churned coffee beans that were, undoubtedly, being used in their gourmet drinks. A nice cozy café, pleasant company, and an extremely large caramel latté would be just the ticket to thaw his rigid bones.

It was better than he had ever imagined; as soon as the door had closed behind him, the room's warmth enveloped him -- bringing about a relaxed sigh. He scanned the room, immediately smiling when he saw a certain colleague of his had chosen a table directly in front of the massive stone fireplace. As he approached the table, Cameron lifted her head from the pamphlet she had been reading, and flicked a stray strand of hair from her face.

A small grin formed on her lips at the sight of his red-tipped nose, "Instinct told me you might be wanting a place to get warm."

"Yeah, no kidding," he slipped out of his jacket to lay it over the back of his chair. "I knew it was going to get cold soon, but I was really hoping it'd hold off just a few more weeks. Or even days."

"You just need to build up some tougher skin," Cameron smiled, watching him pull off his knit cap. No hat-hair; it figured.

Chase set it on the table, "Well how do I go about doing that?"

"By drinking lots of New Jersey's best gourmet coffee, and it just so happens to be that we are in a place that serves just that."

"Is that so?" He glanced up at the menu behind the counter. "Well, then I guess I had better get started. Did you order yet?"

"No, I thought I'd wait for you."

He pushed himself to get up, not really wanting to leave the close proximity of the fireplace, "I'll get it."

"Alright, I'll have-"

"Double mocha latté, skim milk, add a stick of cinnamon, no whip cream, and make it extra hot," he threw a small smile her way.

This brought about a laugh from Cameron, "How'd you know?"

"A few mornings a week you buy a Starbucks coffee on the way to the hospital, and when an emergency comes up you leave it in the lounge. It practically forces itself on me."

She laughed openly, "You drink my coffee?"

"Just a few sips," he made his way up to the counter to order, leaving Cameron chuckling to herself at the thought of Chase sneaking a taste. Then again, who wouldn't? She'd take Starbucks over the usual any day. The men of the diagnostic team seemed to like having their morning drinks doused in caffeine and sugar, something she would much rather pass up.

She spent a few moments just watching Chase stand in line, and wondered why she had never found him as attractive as right now. Something had changed, but she couldn't seem to put her finger on it. Was it his relaxed nature outside of the hospital? Or maybe it had nothing to do with him and everything to do with herself; maybe she had simply come to have a change of heart. After all these years of getting to know him, why couldn't her friendly feelings towards Chase turn to romantic ones? They could, no matter what House believed. He was wrong anyway.

Coming out of her thoughts, Cameron realized she had been absent-mindedly stacking the little tubs of creamers from the center of the table; It was a subconscious habit of hers to keep her hands busy while pondering about various issues. She neatly stacked them back in the middle, and glanced up to see an exciting sight. A huge smile crossed her face as she stood up, and slipped her burgundy trench coat on, buttoning it up. After pulling her gloves on as well, she picked up Chase's belongings, and made a beeline for the counter.

Turning to Cameron with two cups in hand, Chase furrowed his brow. "What are you doing?" he asked looking her over hesitantly. She reached up as he asked his question, putting his cap snuggly atop his head, and making sure the sides were low enough to protect his ears.

"Look outside," she smiled.

He glanced past her, shrugging, "It's snowing."

"Yeah," she took the cups, handing his coat over in return. "It's the first snow fall of the year." Without even waiting for a response, she was already out the door. Chase quickly slid his jacket up over his shoulders, and zipped it up as he hurried to catch up with Cameron. A spiteful chill ran down the back of his neck as soon as he hit the open city streets.

"Cam, wouldn't you rather stay inside? By the fire?" He asked hopefully.

She laughed, handing him a steaming cup as she began walking with him down the sidewalk. "Here, this will help."

"I didn't know you liked the snow so much," Chase admitted as he sipped his drink. This excitement of hers was slightly uncharacteristic of his colleague. On the other hand, it wasn't often he saw her out of her tense, doctor mode.

"I love the snow," she looked to him with a smile. "Though I guess it helps when you grow up with it."

"I've heard Chicago gets a lot of nasty blizzards," he commented, knowing that was her hometown.

She nodded with a slight chuckle, "A _lot_. The winters haven't been as bad lately, but when I was little we'd get so much snow school would be cancelled for weeks at a time, or at least until the majority of the roads could be cleared." She stopped at a street corner, and looked at him curiously while they waited for the traffic to clear, "Did you ever have snow days?"

"No, Melbourne got some snow every now and then, but it never stuck or anything," he answered as he scanned for a break between cars. When the road became clear for a brief moment, they hurried across the street; Chase lightly laying a hand on the small of her back in guidance.

"You've never experienced a snow day?" She asked once they were safely across and walking again. "How sad."

"Warm sun, soft white sand, all year long?" He shook his head in mock misery. "You're right, I was deprived as a child."

A laugh escaped her lips as their feet seemed to instinctively take them towards the park at the center of town, "I have to admit, it sounds pretty nice, but I still couldn't live without my winters." The two turned to walk beneath the arched gate, which served as the entrance to the garden. The cobblestone path wound around the park like a beautiful labyrinth; each individual brick was beginning to be outlined by the snow landing in their crevices.

"You never get tired of the crappy weather?" He asked strolling along the trail. There had been hope within Chase that the trees, however leafless they may be, would protect his frozen hands from the small, but harsh breeze. No such luck, but every few steps his coffee-less hand could feel the warmth of Cameron's glove as their hands accidentally brushed against one another.

"Towards the end of winter maybe I get a little sick of it, but not at all when it's in it's prime," she glanced down ever-so-slightly when she felt Chase's fingers entwine with hers. "The blizzards were the only thing that would give my family a chance to all be home at once."

"If they're anything like you are, I imagine they kept pretty busy," he looked to her. "Am I right?"

"My family has always been the nonstop type. Only they never had a nagging colleague that always told them to loosen up, or take time off," she gave him a playful pointed look. "Now, I'm the _relaxed _one in the family."

Chase chuckled, "I don't know that you're qualified to use that word to describe yourself yet," he grinned at her scolding look, and added, "but I get your point."

"You think _I'm_ bad? My dad worked two full-time jobs, one as a department head of a pharmaceutical company, and the other as a college professor -- don't ask me how he did it. Then my mom ran her own realty business, so she was always at her office solving any crisis that came up or out showing lots," she paused to take a small sip of her coffee. "Then there was my sister who was occupied at the school 24/7. You know, with sports, clubs, things like that."

"Wow," he gave the petite hand in his grasp a little squeeze. "I guess crappy weather can make itself useful sometimes, huh?"

"If the roads aren't clear, then nobody can go anywhere," Cameron agreed, smiling at his encouraging gesture. "And, of course, everybody had off on Christmas. So that gives the winter months an added bonus."

Chase nodded, "One thing I have come to like here is Christmas with snow."

"What was Christmas like for you in Australia?" She asked, looking to him inquisitively.

Chase shrugged, "Not any different than it is here, just no sno-"

"No," Cameron cut him off. "I mean how did you spend it?" After hearing that question, she could tell he had to take some time to think the answer over thoroughly.

"It was just me and my mum," he replied, deciding to go for a vague, surface answer. They stopped to stand beneath a frosted willow tree.

"Didn't you ever visit your grandparents or anything?" Cameron wondered, still focused on him.

"My dad's side asked me every year, but I always preferred to stay with my mum."

She smiled at his words, "I think it's nice you wanted to take care of your mom like that. Especially on Christmas." Her statement was followed by a few moments of silence as Chase tried to process what she just said. Cameron didn't know anything about his mother, so how could she have known that's why he stayed? It was at that very same moment that Cameron had also realized her mistake, and the crease along Chase's brow confirmed her assumption that he had caught it.

"Why would you say something like that?" He asked, not inquiring anything directly just in case he had misinterpreted her statement.

Her eyes lifted to meet his, "I know your mom was sick a lot," she hesitated, "from the alcohol."

"How do you know about all that?" He kept intense eye contact with Cameron that made her wonder if he was going to be mad about this.

"That day the biopsy results came in, I was delivering them to Wilson, and I overheard them talking about you," she confessed. "Chase, why did you feel you had to hide what happened? Foreman and I would have understood."

"I know you two would have," Chase conceded, "but I didn't want you guys to act all weird around me."

Cameron looked to him confused, "Weird?"

"Yeah, you know, act cautious around me when we had a patient who was an alcoholic or-"

"Who we thought had lung cancer? Like Jake?" She finished for him.

He nodded, "I didn't want that kind of treatment, that…pity." He glanced out into the distance as he thought about that last word.

_"Why does everyone need to know my business?" Chase asked once his dad had vanished out the door._

_House leaned back in his office chair, "People like talking about people. Makes us feel superior. Makes us feel in control. And sometimes, for some people, knowing some things makes them care." He popped a Vicodin into his mouth._

_Chase stared at him skeptically, "I'd tell you my dad left, my mum drank herself to death… you gonna care about me more?"_

"_Cameron would. Me, I just like knowing stuff."_

Cameron would. After all this time, maybe that glib remark made by House could be right. He had asked Cameron out a dozens times, and he could always count on her to turn him down. Now, just a few days after she learns his entire story, _she _is the one who approaches _him_. It was starting to make sense now.

"Chase?" Cameron broke into his thoughts. "Something wrong?"

He looked over at her, "No. No, sorry." With that they began to walk down the snow dusted path once more. As they did so, he slowly let his hand fall from her hand, and slipped it into his coat pocket.

**A/N: Sorry for the extremely long wait, but senior year can take up quite a bit of your time. I hope I still have some fans of this story, and I will try to update faster next time.**


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